


Following the River Styx

by TheFandomLesbian



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Lesbian, Romance, Slash, foxxay - Freeform, raulson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: Since the death of Misty, Cordelia has tormented herself with guilt, desperate to find a way to revive the student she lost.  Queenie and Zoe believe they may have found a way to resurrect their forgotten friends. But the path through hell is long and winds in ways that none of them can anticipate.  How far are the witches willing to go to reunite their tribe?Foxxay.





	1. Chapter 1

The late evening sun streaked the sky pink and orange as Zoe paced down the stairs outside the school and followed the broken sidewalk to the greenhouse. The lawn had grown over since their gardener disappeared. Dry autumn leaves whistled across the cracked stone path, and she plucked her thin sweater tighter around herself before she entered the greenhouse.

Only a step into the glass building, soft tones of Fleetwood Mac drifted on the breeze, and Zoe had to pause and swallow hard before she proceeded deeper into the home of the plants. "Cordelia?" she called out. The air stiffened under her tongue. "Queenie and I helped Kyle serve dinner. Everyone's cleaning up for the weekend..." As she rounded the corner, she caught sight of the Supreme. Cordelia poised neatly on a wooden stool, staring intently at the dead belladonna plant. The vinyl spun onward, but even under the influence of the Supreme's magic, the deceased plant didn't revive itself.

_Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn't you love to love her? Takes to the sky like a bird in flight, and who will be her lover?_

Zoe cleared her throat. "Cordelia?" The older witch flinched and whirled around, brown eyes wide with surprise. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you..."

"It's fine." With a flick of her hand, the music scratched to a sudden halt. The silence hung, empty, as Cordelia woefully looked back to the plant. "I haven't been able to revive her. She doesn't answer to my magic." A despondent puff flared Cordelia's nostrils. "Nothing works. Not the potion, not the mud—not even the music. A damn picky plant." Her fingers traced one brown leaf. It crumbled to pieces in her palm. She snatched back with a hiss of frustration, lips twisted downward in dissatisfaction. Her eyes fell closed. "She died with Misty. The others, I could bring them back, but this one—she doesn't want my touch anymore."

In a moment of regrettable callousness, Zoe asked, "Couldn't you just get another one?" Cordelia fixed her under a hot brown gaze, and Zoe quickly scrambled to rectify her position. "Ick—sorry. I sound like Madison." She cleared her throat. "Dinner is finished," she said finally. "Everyone is clearing out for the weekend."

"But that's not what you came to talk to me about."

The corners of her mouth pinched unpleasantly. She should have known that Cordelia would see through any facade of smalltalk. "No." She crossed her arms. Her eyes refused to meet those of her Supreme's; instead, she stared plaintively at Cordelia's feet. "Queenie and I finished packing up Misty's and Nan's things. Nan's grandmother is supposed to be in the area next week to get what's left, but—we don't know what to do with Misty's, if we should track down her family..."

Cordelia's hand clasped the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles turned white. "Misty's family allowed her to be burned at the stake. They don't deserve any  _shred_  of her," she spat.

Fidgeting with one foot, Zoe lifted her gaze. "Right. So do you want us to donate them?"

"No." The younger witch froze at Cordelia's quipped word, and she waited for an explanation, but it seemed that the Supreme would not provide. The older returned her attention to the plant. "Put the box on my bed. I'll find a place for it in the basement." She brushed her fingers along the sturdy stem of the plant, but just a brush, a feather—light touch, as if she feared that it would snap off and ruin all chances of ever salvaging the bell—shaped flowers. With a flick of her wrist, the record replaced itself and began to play again its scratchy tune. No words passed, but Zoe understood the message: She was dismissed.

The young witch turned to leave the greenhouse, passing by all the healthy green leaves. Somehow, she doubted that Cordelia would consider them for a moment. She had that pining shadow beneath her eyes again. Zoe's footsteps echoed until she paused in the clean air. The cool air chilled her more than before. With crossed arms, she surveyed the side of the house, which had turned green with mold. "Got to get another gardener," she mumbled as she proceeded along the broken sidewalk.

A shriek burst from the house, and the witch froze as the front door wrenched open with black smoke billowing out. A scrawny pre—teen, a pyrokinetic witch named Meg, fled with the wind in her skirts. Queenie pursued. "Catch her!" she shouted. Zoe pounced at the frightened girl. Her hands secured on the front of her uniform. They began to wrestle until Meg broke free and scrambled in her wake. "Come back here, you little bitch!" Queenie's voice helped Zoe right herself and charge after the rogue ward.

She snagged Meg again outside the greenhouse. With a squeak of horror, red flared into her eyes, and Zoe's skin grew hot. "Son of a bitch!" She retracted her hand, and Meg spun to run blindly into the greenhouse.

Queenie grabbed her in turn. "C'mon, burn me. I dare you," she sneered to the girl. Backpedaling madly, Meg stumbled over herself and knocked over a pot. At her touch, the leaves ignited and flared into a roaring fire. Queenie hauled her back up. "Put it out!" she snarled.

"P—Please don't hurt me!" Meg trembled like a kicked dog.

"Put it out!"

"What in god's name is going on?" Cordelia rounded the corner with her prized, dead belladonna in her arms. Meg gasped at the appearance of her Supreme and rounded into a ball. The flames licked higher at the young witch's panic. "Meg?"

The sound of her own name pierced any shred of control she still held, and the dead plant vanished into ash just like Misty's body. Cordelia dropped the pot, and it shattered, scattering the soil everywhere. Fat tears trickled down Meg's cheeks. "Please, I didn't mean—an accident—don't hurt me!" Zoe tried to brush her hand along the young witch's neck, but she couldn't stand to touch the burning skin; only Queenie had that tolerance.

Despairing eyes gazed at the destroyed remnants of the plant for a moment before Cordelia advanced on the girls. "Queenie, let her go." With apparent reluctance, she obeyed and took a step back. Cordelia crouched in front of the distraught girl. "Meg, do you remember what we talked about? You have to learn how to control this." A quick nod passed between them. "You need to calm yourself down, and the fire will go away. No one here is going to hurt you. You're safe."

A quivering voice pled, "She said she would feed me to Madam LaLaurie!"

Cordelia peered up at Queenie through the smoke. "Did you?"

"The little bitch ran from me."

The Supreme squinted at her in disapproval, but rather than scolding her, she instead stated, "We need to get out of here. Come along, Meg." She touched Meg's elbow and, upon finding that her skin had returned to a touchable temperature, she tugged her upward. To the teenagers, she said, "Get the others out of the house. Once she's calmed enough, we can eliminate the flames."

Zoe and Queenie headed back up to the house; most of the girls waited on the front lawn with bored looks upon their faces. Two or three of the older witches trampled the flames with bottles of water long enough for the line to proceed out of the front door to safety. As they approached, one looked back. "We've got everyone. Meg hasn't killed anyone yet."

Queenie examined the blackened foyer. "Nobody but the portraits of the previous Supremes," she growled "Good riddance. We were out of wall space, anyway." Crossing her arms, she and Zoe went back out to the yard to count the students, but Kyle had already started. "Look. Your boy toy is doing something useful. Now we've just got to wait for Cordelia to get back with—"

A wail roused from one of the youngest girls named Jen, only eight. She clutched the tiny body of her hamster in her hand. "Miss Zoe! Miss Queenie!" she addressed tearfully. "Charlie isn't breathing! I think he's dead!"

"If it's not one thing, it's another," huffed Queenie. Waving off Zoe, she soothed, "Nah, don't worry, I got this. Come here, girl. Let me work on sweet Charlie." With a tentative outstretched hand, the child passed the limp, cold body of her hamster into Queenie's warm palm. The black witch lifted the tawny fur to her mouth and breathed softly across its face. A long, still moment passed, but it didn't return to life. "Oh, c'mon, stupid rat. Why'd Misty have to run off and get herself sucked into hell? God knows this would be the most valued thing she ever resurrected." Queenie took a moment to calm herself before she puffed across the hamster's snout again. The paw twitched, but he gave no other sign of life. Zoe shuffled closer to examine him. "Weird, ain't it?"

As the flames died to a smolder, Cordelia rounded the corner with her hand on the small of Meg's back. "Everything is fine now, girls." A smile hadn't returned to her face. Her eyes held the hollow shadow that Zoe had seen before in the greenhouse. But the other wards apparently didn't notice or didn't care about the state of their Supreme as they filtered in, Meg working her way into the corner of the group with her head down. Only Jen remained. "What's this?" Cordelia approached her council members.

Zoe looked up at Cordelia. "Jen's hamster isn't breathing. We can't get him to come back." She attempted to disguise the prickle of concern in her voice, but she didn't shroud it entirely as the Supreme quirked an eyebrow at her. "He must have breathed in too much smoke. It was very thick in the foyer. The paintings are ruined." She glanced back to Kyle and Queenie, but neither of them provided anything else to Cordelia. Their once—friendly headmistress had become cold and detached since her ascension to Supreme, and while Zoe held tight to the image of Cordelia that she had once known, Queenie and Kyle were glad to allow her infinite space. Perhaps they preferred it that way. With a despairing clench of her fists, she fell silent.

The hamster changed hands once again as Cordelia lifted it to her mouth and watched the tiny body for any sign of movement. She placed one finger on its chest and exhaled smoothly over its muzzle. Charlie sprang upward with an audible gasp. Just as quickly, he flopped onto his back. His limbs wracked into seizures so strong that Cordelia nearly dropped him, and white foam poured out of his mouth. A puddle of piss filled her palm as he sagged back into death. Jen released a strangled sob. "I'm sorry, Jen. I suppose it was only intended to revive humans."

"Misty revived animals left and right," grumbled Queenie. "As many nasty people she brought back, she owes us a puny hamster." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Zoe, who stared, fixated upon the hamster. Jen continued to weep. "Well, c'mon, kid. Let's go bury Mr. Charlie. He was an old hamster, wasn't he? We'll find a plot for him in the backyard. I'll show you the spot where we burned all the zombie parts last year."

Though she held an unconvinced look, Jen followed. She dashed her tears away with her fist. "I'm going to  _kill_  Meg! She killed Charlie!" They disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving Cordelia and Zoe behind.

Zoe tucked her hands into her pockets and shrank her shoulders. As Kyle proceeded into the house, she moved to follow, but Cordelia called, "Zoe?" so she hesitated and turned back. "Queenie's right. This coven would have been much more secure with Misty around." She waited. She knew that Cordelia had a point that she would eventually reach. "You knew her before any of us. Do you know where she might have kept some of her things before she came here? If we have anything we can learn from her still..."

A frown quirked upon Zoe's mouth. "She lived in the swamp. She told me her cabin was destroyed when the witch hunter came after her. But—Misty was born with her powers. I don't think she would have written down how she did them." After a momentary pause, she continued, "I'm not certain that she knew how to write."

Cordelia snorted, shaking her head. "You're right. It was a silly notion." She wiped her wet hand on the front of her soot—soiled shirt. "I'm going back to the greenhouse to clean up. My poor belladonna." She inhaled deeply with her eyes closed. "I'd trade every plant in that house to have Misty back. She would have regrown them in two days, anyway."

Pursing her lips, Zoe stared at the gray slate of the sidewalk. "When I took Kyle away from her, she didn't want us to leave." She absently picked at a hangnail. "I thought she was going to tie us up. She was so afraid that I would never come back for her. She was so afraid of being abandoned." Tears burbled inadvertently to her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek until they dissipated once again. "She got lost in the only place where none of us could reach her. I just..." Her voice quivered, and she hushed it to a whisper to prevent herself from weeping. "I hope she isn't angry at us because we left her."

Cordelia hunched over at the middle slightly. Her face paled in the chill. "I'm going back to the greenhouse now to salvage what I can. The foyer can wait." She turned on her heel and strode away, but she never straightened her spine, hands wrapped tightly around her middle as she hugged herself for comfort.

...

Much later that night, Zoe tucked herself into the twin—sized bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. Kyle had not yet come to the room; he had shifts to work. A butler kept busy with so many girls to usher around, and he still struggled at times to make sense of all of their nuances. Perhaps he would never be wholly human. "Queenie?" she voiced. "Are you still awake?"

"Yeah. Can't sleep. Thinkin' about that girl's damn hamster. Turn the lamp on, will you?" Zoe obeyed. Neither of them cared for the dark anymore. In their folly, they feared Papa Legba would return and drag them to hell. "What if something like that happens to one of us? I mean, dead, and nobody can bring us back. We'd be  _real_  dead, not just temporary dead."

Lifting up her phone to check for messages, Zoe replied in a mumble, "Yeah, but Cordelia said it just screwed up because it was a hamster."

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't know."

Queen huffed. "Well, _I_  don't. I think she's bending under the weight of being the Supreme already and losing her strength. What if we were wrong? What if she's not the real Supreme, and it was actually Madison, or Nan?" She sat upright when Zoe didn't reply. "C'mon. We hardly see her! She spends all her time in the greenhouse! The kids are saying she even misses some of the classes she's assigned to teach. You can't chalk that up to coincidence."

Rubbing her eyes, Zoe sat up as well, looking her friend in the eye. "I don't. But I don't think it's because she isn't the Supreme."

The black witch crossed her arms and inclined an eyebrow. "So what do you think? That she's just temporarily bonkers?"

"I—I think she misses Misty." Queenie rolled her eyes, but Zoe held up a hand. "Really. She's listening to Stevie Nicks in the greenhouse, and she's  _obsessed_  with this belladonna plant. It died when Misty died, and she couldn't revive it. She was raving about it needing a certain kind of magic, or not liking her touch, or something like that. Then Meg burnt it up, so there's no hope now." Zoe's fists tightened in the blankets. "Misty was the only one who really understood Cordelia—who actually took the time to spend time with her and engage with her. Surely you noticed that." She snorted as she shook her head in a rueful derision. "We all had our heads stuck too far up our own asses to spend time with each other. That's why Nan's gone."

"Uh—huh," echoed Queenie, "Nan's _gone._  If Misty was so goddamn great, why didn't she bring Nan back, huh?"

Rolling her eyes, Zoe retorted, "If you recall, Madison had killed and buried her." She gazed down at the ground. "I'm not certain. But you saw how Cordelia acted when Misty never woke up. She was distraught."

"We were all upset. We thought it could've been us."

"I didn't see you grabbing handfuls of ash."

"Well, I ain't a white girl." Zoe opened her mouth to retaliate, but Queenie cut in, "Look—even if Cordelia is just grieving. What are we supposed to do about it? We can't resurrect Misty. Like you just said, she turned into a big cloud of soot. Poof, gone. Even Misty couldn't have brought that back from the dead. I say we wait this out and see what hell comes to pay. If it gets bad enough, we are the new council. Deal?"

For a moment, she nibbled on her lower lip, but she finally agreed, "Deal." She gave a half—smile at Queenie. "Things are getting better. Fiona's gone now, and maybe Cordelia just has to adjust to the role. Big shoes to fill."

Queen rolled over to face the wall. "Fiona had tiny feet," she grumbled. "Go to sleep. Leave the light on. I might have to pee some time."

Zoe dimmed the lamp and folded herself into her own bed, where she soon fell into a troubled sleep.

...

A pounding at the door roused the two sleeping girls, but a quick glance at the alarm clock reported that they were still hours away from dawn, only three in the morning. The sharply rapping fist repeated itself. "Zoe? Queenie? There's something wrong with Miss Cordelia!" The witch on the other side of the door knocked harder. "Wake up, please!"

Barefoot and clad in a nightgown, Zoe tripped over herself to answer the door. Behind her, Queenie rolled to her feet. "Maria? What's the matter?" She raked a hand through her hair to attempt to tame it flat as she searched the other girl's face for some hint of the situation at hand. "Something wrong with Cordelia?"

"She's sleepwalking again," mumbled a sleepy—eyed girl just beyond. She rubbed at her eyes with one fist. "She's busting into rooms and mumbling about saving hamsters. You gotta wake her up. Scaring the little ones half to death. Us, too."

Queenie shuffled past. "She's goddamn lucky she doesn't fall down the stairs and break her damn neck," grunted the black witch with a deep scowl on her face. "Can we, as the council, rule it law that she put a damn lock on her bedroom door?" Zoe didn't share her deep, brown—eyed glower, but a purse of concern tutted onto her lips. "Well, I'm going to go wake her up, if you're just going to stand here all night!" she puffed.

Zoe shook herself and retorted, "I'm coming! I just have to—process. I'm half—asleep." She shoved past Queenie. "Take us to her," she ordered Maria.

Down the hall into the opposite wing, they found Cordelia bumping head—first into one of the bedroom doors. She rocked back and forth as she mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. "Are there girls in there?" Zoe asked Maria in a whisper.

"Bitch has gone to crazy town and ain't come back," Queenie reported tartly as Maria nodded and replied, "They were afraid to come out. I don't blame them. But she can open doors with her magic, can't she?"

With a shrug, Zoe approached Cordelia. Considering the facts would only prolong the time they spent out of bed. She hovered beside the Supreme for a moment. "Gotta...hamster," sounded clearly. "Bella—mud." A tiny smile, creepy when coupled with Cordelia's glassy brown eyes, appeared on her dry lips. "You—help—Misty." Zoe winced at the name. "More...mud." A string of garbled words shushed down into silent breath over moving lips. The rocking continued. At long last, a hand reached up and rested on the cool bronze doorknob.

"This was Misty's room," Zoe whispered to Queenie.

"Actually, it was _my_  room," spat the black witch. "Who gives a damn? She's having a dream. Wake her up so we can go our asses back to bed. I've got shit to do tomorrow that I ain't doin' on interrupted sleep."

With a firm hand, Cordelia pushed open the door to the bedroom. The four girls had all clambered up onto one of the top bunks, shivering in their nighties. "C'mon, Misty. Things to do, mm..." The Supreme fumbled about with her hands on one of the lower beds, as if seeking a human—shaped lump among the covers. "C'mon, sweetie..."

Zoe swallowed hard as she watched the girls on the top bed retreat with squeaks of fright. "Cordelia." She brushed her fingers against the Supreme's bare arm, but it didn't seem to impede her from shuffling the blankets. "Cordelia, wake up. You're dreaming." She plucked at the older woman's arm gently and shook her. "Wake up." Zoe pinched her, but she slipped out of her grasp. The teen narrowed her eyes upon the sleepwalker and reached out with her mind to sink into the Supreme's consciousness.  _I want you to wake up now_.

The gasp elicited from her as she shot forth into reality reflected that of one returning from hell itself. "Zoe!" An airy tone flitted from Cordelia's raspy, unused voice. "What am I..." She turned to find the many pairs of eyes upon her from the hallway. "I suppose I was sleepwalking again."

"You crazy lookin' for Misty to revive a damn hamster!" Queenie growled with her arms crossed. She arched an eyebrow as her gaze fell to Zoe, who mouthed back at her, " _Told you so_." Queenie cleared her throat. "Well? We can all go back to bed now. Off with the lot of you! Party's over! Get on! Get on!" She ushered the clustered crowd of young witches away so that they dissipated into their backs, headed back to their own rooms. "Y'all go back to sleep." She waved off the staring girls from the top bunk. "We're outta your hair. Let's get out."

Zoe followed quietly; Cordelia took a moment to apologize to the girls for frightening them before she pursued the two younger witches into the now—silent hallway. All of the other wards had tucked themselves away safely in their rooms. "I'm sorry I woke you. You can both go back to bed now." The empty shadow had returned to Cordelia's face. Perhaps she only knew peace in sleep these days. The thought made a pang grow in the base of Zoe's stomach. "I'm going to stay up for awhile."

Reluctant to broke an argument at this hour of the morning, Zoe nodded with slow consideration, but Queenie ventured, "Girl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Cordelia started down the stairs while the younger witches started to return to their rooms. Just outside the door, Queenie's lips twisted into a frown. "I don't give a damn what she says. She ain't fine. She's goin' half—crazy. We gotta fix her before somebody gets dead while she's got her head in the clouds."

"There might be a way to fix her," Zoe answered as she leaned on the doorframe. Queenie arched an eyebrow to her in response. "But you can't call me crazy, alright?"

"No promises."

Rolling her eyes, Zoe proceeded into the room. "You remember when I found that hole in one of the closets? Had Spalding's tongue and the ouija board and all those old pictures in it?"

"Nah, girl, you summoned the  _axeman_  with that shit. Anything you found in there has  _gotta_  be bad news," Queenie reminded, lips twisted downward with distaste. "What'd you find in there now? A resurrection spell that'll create whole bodies from ash? Crazy, digging around in old places like that. House like this got some old bones. Ain't your business to fidget around in the past."

Zoe ignored her. "The old school library is kept there—parts of it. The forbidden books, mostly, that they didn't want the students to find and read. One of them is about Papa Legba and his afterlife—his hell."

Face freezing with lips slightly parted, Queenie gaped a moment before she shook her head adamantly. "No. No, Zoe. I  _been_  to hell twice. It sucks righteous ass. I am not going swimming around down there and risking my own soul to look for Cordelia's dead Cajun girlfriend. Uh—uh. If Cordelia wants her back bad enough, she can dive into the afterlife for her own damn self and leave me the hell out of her business!"

Setting her jaw, Zoe retorted, "That's the thing! Cordelia can't do it by herself. It requires two or more witches to travel together. The theory—"

"—Yeah, _theory,_  may not be true, I don't wanna find out—"

"—says that Papa Legba's thresholds are designed to detect a specific magical signature. When two signatures cross at the same time, the signals are muted. We could arrive without him ever knowing, and then we could find Misty. Maybe Nan, too." Zoe looked to her friend, expecting another sharp retort, but the mention of Nan left Queenie's eyes glazed and expression soft. The white witch knew that she had gained the upperhand. She rushed into the bedroom and dug out the old tome from beneath her bed, flipping rapidly through the pages. "It says that the afterlife is wholly like—like limbo. There are locations for the spirits, but not individual rooms. Some people are in hell with other people to torment one another for the rest of their lives—it's all whatever they feared or hated most within their lives, you understand?"

Queenie plucked her lip back. "Er... You sorta lost me, to be honest." She waved Zoe off from continuing the explanation. "Look—the details of it aren't important right now. What do you want us to do? Cross the threshold and hope we find Misty and Nan before Papa Legba finds us? You can't just screw around with a deity. We get caught, we'll be in a world of hurt. Cordelia will never let us do something stupid like that."

"Cordelia isn't going to find out." A pleading look struck Zoe's wide eyes. "We'll do it without telling her. Go, find Nan and Misty, and come back out. We're strong now, and Papa Legba has so many wards, he'll probably never notice that we were there."

"You've got a lot of faith that an immortal god has the same flaws as a man," Queenie replied darkly. "And what do we do once we've found them? We don't have their bodies. Nan's six feet under and rotten. Misty's in an urn on Cordelia's dresser. Bring them back as ghosts?"

Shaking her head, Zoe vehemently flipped through the book. "No—this tells how to do it. If we bless the earth before the ritual, it becomes fertile for growth, so that when we return with our spirit through the portal, a new body will form."

"Now you're talking some Adam and Eve type shit."

Zoe trailed her finger over the line beneath an ancient picture of a body digging itself up from the ground.  _From dust were ye made and dust ye shall be._  "That's a Simon and Garfunkel quote," she provided. "My grandma used to listen to their songs all the time."

"Least it wasn't Stevie Nicks." With one chubby finger, Queenie rubbed along the crease of the tattered yellow pages. She shook her head. "This is a bad idea, Zoe."

"But you're in, aren't you?"

"Of course I am."

...

Downstairs, Cordelia settled her cold bare feet upon the hardwood floors. She had not yet repaired the singed walls of the foyer, which still reeked of smoke and soot. She trusted that no one would interrupt her at this hour. Moving past the wrecked paintings, her eyes glanced to Fiona's, which remained only partially intact. She entered the computer lab on the right wing of the house; they had opened it out of necessity for the girls who arrived with little more than the clothes on their backs. The room held a chilled atmosphere, and Cordelia shivered in her light gown, but she settled into one of the farthest chairs regardless and turned it on. The harsh light of the screen burned her eyes.

Once she reached the blazing Google emblem, she typed in the single name, which prompted more articles than she had time or patience to sort out: "Missing Woman, Misty Day, Presumed Dead"; "Burned Stake Discovered, but No Sign of Missing Girl"; "Misty Day's Mother: 'Please Bring My Baby Home'"; "Church of Misty Day Hosting Memorial Service"; "Odd Happenings Surrounded Missing Louisiana Woman". Cordelia's lip curled at the titles. How many people had taken part in these articles after they dragged the witch out of her home and set her on fire? Her gut burbled at the thought.

The Supreme clicked on the first title and steeled herself for the blowback.

"Police departments have decided to call off the search for 23 year old Misty Day of Pleasure Bend, Louisiana. Day went missing in late July of last year, reported by friends who had not seen her at the parish where she regularly attended. Upon investigation, Day's parents released that she had gone several days before, but they expected she had run away and would eventually return. 'I'm not concerned about her,' said Paul Day, father of the missing girl and her younger siblings. 'She's always been a strange one. She'll find her way back to us.'

"Teresa Day, mother of the family, seconded his thoughts. 'I miss my baby girl,' she said tearfully, 'and if you see her, tell her to come home. But that's a choice she's gotta make for herself.'

"Day's younger siblings, Jeremy, age 15, and Mary, age 10, had different stories to tell, provoking suspicion from police. Jeremy said, 'I heard her screaming. There were people in the house with hoods on. I didn't see Dad anywhere. I went to call the police, but Mom told me to take Mary to my room and stay out of the way. She said they would be back soon, but when they came back the next morning, Misty wasn't with them.' Under further questioning, Jeremy refused to answer, and police have determined that the Day family has no involvement in Misty Day's disappearance. Foul play is not suspected, though there are rising rumors that a burned stake found near Pleasure Bend might have been a murder weapon used against Day. However, no evidence of Day has been found near the scene.

"'We just want to get back to our lives,' said Paul. 'We can't sit around mourning her forever. The memorial service is over, so we go back to work. Misty will either come home or she won't. Wherever she is, she wouldn't have wanted us all to get up in arms about missing her. She's always wanted to find her tribe. I can just hope she found it.'"

Cordelia bit her fist and dashed away the angry tears with the other hand. "Son of a bitch," she cursed. "Disgusting bastard." The urge to put her fist right through the computer monitor struck her, but she restrained herself as she shakily scrawled the information about Misty's church and tiny community where she had grown up.  _There has to be a way. There has to be something I'm missing._  The Supreme erased the computer history and closed the browser. If anyone knew how to bring Misty back, it would be Misty herself. She would start there—if only because she knew nowhere else to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

On the weekends, the academy tended to clear out. Girls who lived in the area visited family; many attended parties against Cordelia's wishes; almost all of them found something to do away from the rumored witch school. At breakfast, the Supreme spotted Zoe and Queenie whispering to themselves, sitting closer than normal. Meg sat alone at the opposite end of the table; her despairing eyes fixed upon her untouched eggs. As Cordelia approached the table, a prickle of guilt tickled her insides. _I'll counsel her tomorrow_ , she promised herself. She hated herself for the lie. She hated herself for following her own desires. "Girls?" she addressed Zoe and Queenie.

Both of them snatched upright, and between their legs under the table, they snapped shut a large book that they had intended to conceal. Cordelia's mouth flattened into a straight line. "I hope that you're not planning anything foolish." Zoe paled with eyes and mouth set like a deer caught in headlights, but Queenie's face gnarled, and Cordelia knew that she was not prepared to challenge them over some spell. They likely wanted to learn a new experimental magic. And while nothing in magic was harmless, the coven's dark days were behind it. She held up a hand. "I don't want to know. Just don't hurt anyone." Clearing her throat, she heaved her purse up onto her shoulder. "I'm going out of town. I'll be back tonight. If you need anything, call me."  _Please don't need anything_. Cordelia wanted to focus upon the task at hand. "Have a good day." She nodded to both of them as they mumbled the sentiments in turn. _I should confiscate the book._  Clearly, they didn't want her to know about whatever they intended to do—and she had just given them the free pass to summon demons and raise the dead while her back was turned.  _Don't bother_. She didn't. She walked out of the house into the warm street where she unlocked her car and climbed inside.

She could have transmuted to her destination, but after Zoe impaled herself, she didn't trust herself to land safely, and she needed the time to organize her thoughts on her drive. Settling into the driver's seat, she ripped open the packaging on her new Stevie Nicks CD and popped it into the player. It began to play automatically. She skipped to the fifth song, the one she wanted to hear first. Eyes closed, she soaked in the first line as it played. Then, releasing a pent-up sigh, she cranked the car and pulled out from the street. A single tear tracked down her cheek; she didn't bother to dab it away. With the volume so high, the song blared out of the car, though she kept the windows rolled all the way up.  _And when I call, will you walk gently through my shadow?_

"Are we clear?" Queenie finally breathed as Zoe peeked out the window, watching Cordelia's vehicle roar away. "Jesus H. Christ, she's listening to goddamn Stevie Nicks again. I thought we got rid of that white people noise when Misty melted in hell."

Zoe backed away and let the curtains fall closed. "We're good," she assured. "Cordelia's gone. That's more convenient than I thought it would be." A nervous smile touched her face. "Kyle knows what we're doing. His job is to keep Cordelia off our asses as long as possible. We don't know how long it'll take us to find both of them."

The black witch's lip twisted down into a dubious expression. "And you're sure that we won't disintegrate, right? There's no risk for becoming additional urns on Cordelia's dresser? I'm just not sure how much I'm willing to risk to make Cordelia happy. She could pick up any cute, Cajun blonde at a bar, and it'd be basically the same experience—maybe the pussy would be cleaner..."

Scoffing, Zoe said, "Don't be morbid. No, I told you. We're free to move as long as we're not tricked into entering our own hells. That's why we have to stay together. It's designed to try to fool us, but we have to remember what we're there for." She paused. "Are you still in?" Her teeth brushed her lip as she studied Queenie's face.

"Of course."

"Then let's go."

Once they headed upstairs to their room, they locked the door and lay on the floor side by side, each grasping the other's hand tightly. "Do you remember the incantation?" Zoe whispered, and Queenie nodded. She bit her lip. "On three. One. Two. Three."

In unison, they hailed ancient Latin in a deep chant. The spiritual vortex opened and sucked, plucked at them. Zoe grasped Queenie's hand so hard that she feared her fingers would break. The air vanished as gasping lungs reached for something to slurp. Everything spun around and around. Pressure built behind their eyes and in their mouths and stomachs. Dizziness blurred into a black spiral of movement.

Then, everything stopped.

...

Cordelia would hardly have qualified the cluster of houses that comprised Misty's community as a town; it had nothing more than a church and a gas station. She killed the stereo as she turned off of the highway onto a narrow side-street with a bold dead-end sign emblazoned on the corner. She paid it no heed. She had a home to visit. She parked in the street and reflexively locked her car before she surveyed the humble home before her.

Whatever she had expected, this wasn't quite it. The home of the Days was small but modern. They had a gravel driveway and a carport, though it currently held no vehicles. The screen door had a tear down the middle. In the overgrown yard, the family had planted several yard signs. One of them reported, "Pro-Life: Jesus Says So." Another read, "John the Baptist Church," and listed miniscule service times underneath. Cordelia tightened her grasp on the strap of her purse. The home reeked of bad vibes— _juju_ , as Misty would've put it. A gulp bumped down her throat as she wove her way through the tall grass to the front door.

Before she had the opportunity to knock, the front door opened. The dark brown paint had begun to peel off in chunks. A teenage boy stood beyond it. He had curly, platinum blond hair, icy eyes narrowed into slits. "Pa says we ain't talkin' to no more media 'bout Misty," he reported in a chipped tone. "What'ch'ya want?" He crossed his skinny arms. A dark bruise darkened on the underside of his jaw. Large gashes littered his jeans, which were three inches too short, and his T-shirt bore dark stains. "Huh? You gonna talk or just stare all day?"

Cordelia blinked in surprise. "Er—I'm not with the media. I'm a friend of Misty's. I—I would like to talk about her, if you don't mind. Are you Jeremy?" She donned a friendly smile.

It seemed that she convinced him, as he opened the door wider to allow her inside. "Yer." He extended a hand. She hesitated a moment before she accepted the friendly touch. The moment their skins touched, his inner voice shouted at her.  _"Tell her nothing nothing nothing remember what Pa said tell her nothing or it'll be a good whippin' for ya—"_

His memories crackled to the surface in a blur. Through Jeremy's eyes, she saw masked men tear into the small home. A familiar voice—their mother's, presumably—echoed, "Jeremy! Take Mary to your room and hide!" His eyes followed the cycle of black-cloaked figures. "Jeremy, did you hear me? Take your sister and wait for us!"

Misty's shriek pierced the air, and then she came into view, slumped over as they hauled her by her arms. "Lemme go! Lemme go!" Her clothing twisted as she writhed to escape. One of the men seized her by her masses of blonde hair and dragged her along on her ass. "Mama!" Fat tears streaked her face red. "Mama, don't let 'em take me! Mama, please!" A boot crunched across her face, and she fell into a series of sniveling whimpers.

Jeremy dove for the phone, but the older woman slapped him away. "Don't be a fool, boy! Take Mary and go to your room!"

"But—the police—"

"Let your father handle this! Do as I tell you!" The boy reached for his sister and shuffled past the pack of figures in the hallway. He slammed the door shut to his bedroom, but through the wall, Misty's whimpers still reverberated. Jeremy and Mary clustered together on the bed. A motor roared to life outside, and gravel sprayed as they drove away with Misty in tow.

Cordelia exhaled to free herself from the memory and released Jeremy's hand. "I'm Cordelia."

"Ne'er heard of ya. Misty didn't have many friends." He narrowed his eyes at her critically. "What'ch'ya need? Ya can't stay long. My pa won't want you here."

A blonde girl rounded the corner. She had heaps of platinum hair just like her sister; if not for the sheer height difference, she could've been Misty. "Jeremy! Pa told you not to let in no more of them people!"

He rounded on his sister. "Well, I'm goin' to keep lettin' 'em in until one of 'em finds Misty, and I don't care what Pa says. He don't care if they find her. I do."

Cordelia examined the room while the two siblings bickered. An elderly labrador lay on the ground; two cats circled back and forth with piercing yellow eyes. The home, wallpaper hanging off in places, had pictures of the family displayed upon the walls. Several of the hangings quoted Bible verses. They had a box TV in the living room. General filth coated the place like a generous spread of dust. Old newspapers were strewn about. Piles of animal shit were in every corner. The place reeked of a litter box that hadn't been scooped for days.

Mary followed Cordelia's gaze to the elderly dog. "That's Gizmo. She's sixteen years old. Misty brought her back to life three times."

"Mary!" protested Jeremy, voice aghast, face paling. "Pa's gonna kill us! You can't just tell people that!"

"This one's different." The girl smiled. "I can tell." A faint magical aura exhaled from her. She drew nearer and went to offer her hand, but after a moment's consideration, she drew back. "All the animals were Misty's. She never let any of them die. We left her fish in the tank as long as Ma would let us. She'd kill us if she knew we flushed 'em."

The boy fidgeted in intense discomfort as he watched the transaction occur, but Cordelia studied the girl intently, unable to tell if Mary had a unique magical signature or if the years of living with such a powerful witch had worn off on her. "I—I'd like to see her room, if you don't mind." She could recruit new witches another time. Today, she had come for a purpose, and she intended to accomplish it—she wanted as much of Misty as she could possibly salvage. She wanted to learn as much as she could to look for a path to resurrection.

Mary's pale eyes studied her for a moment before she responded, "Ma and Pa got rid of all Misty's stuff almost as soon as those people took her away." Jeremy moved to intervene, but Mary turned to him. "Don't bother. She already knows." Lips twisted downward, she continued, "But I can show you. She had to share with me. She hated it. It's just my room now." A moment of silence passed before the girl turned down the hall. One of the cats twisted underfoot. Cordelia followed her with dread pooling in the center of her gut.

In spite of the squalor of the rest of the house, this room had a happier vibe, bright yellow wallpaper, and it smelled cleaner. "I left her plants." The pots littered the room with various fragrances and flowers; for the most part, they had begun to decay. The room held two twin-sized beds. One had a messy layer of covers; the other had been stripped totally bare. That side of the room held nothing more than an empty chest of drawers. Above the barren bed, they had fixed a bulletin board. It held pictures of Misty's face along with newspaper clippings. The headlines surrounding the disappearance of the young witch had been circled in red in places. "But there's nothing else of hers here. They wanted to eliminate all trace of her. Forget they ever had her." Mary's smile wavered. "That's why we made the bulletin board. We don't want to let them forget."

"That's—noble of you."

"She's our sister. Family doesn't let family disappear." Cordelia gazed at the colored pictures featuring the lost witch. Misty dancing with Mary in front of a river; Misty and Jeremy posed before a waterfall; Misty kissing her beloved dog on the nose; a professional picture, presumably taken for her senior year of high school. All of them beautiful, all of them with the young woman beaming in joy. "You can take whichever one you want. We've saved oodles more."

Abruptly, her lips dried, and she flitted her tongue out to wet them once again. "Thank you." She unpinned the one with Misty and the dog and tucked it into the wallet of her purse. "I think that's all I needed." Her voice had dropped to a bare whisper, but Mary understood and headed back up the hall. With her back turned, Cordelia brushed a tear off the bridge of her nose.

The stained carpet squished underfoot. At the front door, Jeremy said, "Our grandma might be able to help you more." A reluctance touched his expression, but as Cordelia opened her notepad to write, he inclined his eyebrows. "Name's Rosemary. Works at the daycare at the church. Should be there now, if you hurry."

"Thank you." Cordelia rushed to tuck the things back into her purse, but Mary interrupted.

"Miss?"

"Yes?"

Big blue eyes focused upon her with mingled fear and curiosity. "You know Misty," she murmured. "You've known her recently. Is..." Her voice choked. "Is Misty still alive? Did those people kill her? Are we ever gonna see her again?"

Cordelia's heart sank down into her stomach at the heart-wrenching looks upon their faces. She grasped the strap of her purse, and her mind churned for an answer, for some comfort. These children were not witches. They would not understand the concept of attempting to revive a long-dead woman turned to ash. "As far as I know, she's fine," Cordelia lied. Mary beamed back at her, and Jeremy's face lifted as well. As she walked back to the car, she promised herself that she had done the right thing.

She settled warmly into the seat of her car once again.  _Just to the church,_  she cheered herself. But the deeper she burrowed, the farther she crawled away from Misty. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she allowed herself a moment to remember—to remember Misty, the powerful witch who cared about the world around her, and to remember her purpose in coming this way and pursuing the family who would prefer to forget that she had ever existed.

_The moment that she heard the lilting, accented voice of Zoe's friend, Cordelia knew that she would find space in the home to house the witch in danger. The very timbre of her voice gave Cordelia a mental picture. She offered her hand, and upon the contact of their fingers, the scene altered—smoke streaming from a victim's nostrils, soot scarring brilliant eyes, the utter agony of flames twisting through entrails alongside the stench of burning hair and flesh. "Misty Day," she identified the young witch with a slight, curled smile. "You're safe here."_

_For the most part, the witch kept out of the way. Cordelia seldom heard her voice; the only hint of her rose when one passed by her bedroom, from which a stream of Fleetwood Mac songs steadily flowed._

_It was the wee hours a few days after Misty's arrival when Cordelia awoke abruptly in a cold sweat. She rolled over to grapple her alarm clock so that it read the time aloud to her. "2:17 AM," it reported in the mechanical tone. Cordelia groaned to herself. She had to pee—and finding the toilet was difficult enough—but her dry throat reported that she needed a glass of water, and that required a trip downstairs. She swung out of bed and seized her cane as she stumbled around the furniture of her bedroom in the direction of the door. Once she had pushed her way out of the room, she lay a hand on the wall to guide herself down the hall. Over the years, she had mapped the house in her mind, but she still doubted herself, counted her steps, prodded about in search of a materializing staircase._

_As she passed Misty's bedroom door, she noted the silence. Her fingers grazed the painted surface._  At least she's sleeping _, Cordelia comforted herself._ It must be hard for her to trust any of us _. The musing continued. She took one step farther._  Zoe said that she's too thin. Have to make sure she's eating. She hasn't been to any meals. _Another step followed._ The crowd has got to make her feel uncomfortable. _And another._ But Myrtle says she's the next Supreme. She brought herself back from the dead. That's an unusual gift. Resurgence. Where the hell are the stairs?

_As her foot came down a final time, she found them. The world whirled about as the impact of her own body against the wood thundered at every striking point. Her shoulder, her head, her leg. She grappled for something to catch herself from rolling all the way down the staircase. She stuck her arm between the railing. The sound of it splintering preceded the pain. It cracked like a whip. Her jaw parted to make a sound, but it struck the next stair, and her teeth collided upon her tongue. She landed face-first at the bottom; her body somersaulted once more with the momentum so that she lay on her back, breathless and weak. The blood from her bitten tongue ran down her throat into a sickening thickness._  I hate my life _, she internally griped._

_Upstairs, a door creaked open. "What the hell?" murmured Misty. Cordelia wanted to make a sound, but she couldn't stand the thought of asking for Fiona—not now, as she lay, vulnerable, at the base of the stairs. She could already hear her mother's scorn upon seeing that she had fallen. Fiona would undoubtedly make the situation worse. "Miss Cordelia? Oh, god." Misty's footsteps hardly made a sound as she descended. A thump sounded just beside Cordelia's head, and as cool hands touched her face, she attempted to push herself up on her good arm. The touch elicited a flash from Misty's mind—lifting a dead raccoon out of the road and touching all of its wounds, watching them close, watching the life seep back into it. "You've broken your arm—that's okay, I can fix that. Can you stand?"_

_Though she could not see, the world still spun around Cordelia. Her voice was thick with blood. "I think so." She wouldn't argue with help of this form. "Don't tell my mother."_

_"Wasn't planning on it." Misty secured her arms around Cordelia's middle. She winced at the touch. "Might've bruised some ribs, too." The headmistress fumbled for a moment before her arm landed securely around Misty's shoulders. Her hand brushed the heaps of curled hair._ So much hair. _It occurred to her that she hadn't touched Misty's face before, and she wanted to map it with her fingers._ I must have a goddamn concussion. _Her feet rocked shakily beneath her, and Misty accepted a generous portion of her weight gracefully. "Let's go to the living room. Don't think I can drag you all the way to the kitchen."_

_The following moments of blind stumbling ended when Misty guided her to the sofa and let her sit. "I didn't mean to wake you."_

_"You didn't," Misty assured. She took her thumb and dabbed the blood coming out of Cordelia's nose. "You're bleeding. Lemme fix your arm, and then I'll see what I can do for the rest of you. You took a couple good hits, that's sure."_

_The witch took Cordelia's arm as she hissed in protest of the contact. "Have you ever fixed an arm before?"_

_"Arms, legs, noses, jaws, ribs, necks. A couple toes. I fix whatever's broken. Once I fixed my friend's cheekbone. Her boyfriend hit her. He was an asshole. Alright, this might hurt a little." Before Cordelia had the opportunity to protest, a second splintering sound erupted from her broken arm as all the pieces formed together again. She grunted against the sensation, but it dissipated into a dull pang quickly enough._

_"Thank you."_

_"No problem." Misty's smile was audible. "I'll get you a washcloth, mop up your face a little bit. Do you want some ice for your jaw?"_

_The independent part of Cordelia wanted to fight, to buck against this woman's friendly kindness offered without request and without recompense. But her head was still swimming in the thick, disoriented feeling, like the floor could dissolve beneath her feet at any moment. "Sure," she said instead. In spite of the situation, a warm expression worked its way onto her face. Misty's touch soothed her when she saw a memory of Misty tending a garden._

_Upon returning, Misty dropped several ice cubes wrapped in a towel into Cordelia's hand. She held it to her bruised jaw. Misty grunted as she dropped into a crouch in front of the headmistress; Cordelia felt her breath waft across her face. She rubbed the wet washcloth against her skin. "I brought you a glass of water. And a hairbrush."_

_A wry grin cracked upon Cordelia's face. "Are you suggesting that I'm looking less than my best?" she teased halfheartedly._

_"You're purty as ever, Miss Cordelia," Misty assured. She clasped Cordelia's hand, and this time, Cordelia felt the witch pushing a vision toward her, something she wanted Cordelia to see. It flashed into the dimly lit living room. Through Misty's eyes, she saw herself. Horrendous pink scars, all gnarled and twisted, stretched from one temple to the other. Her eyes, once bright brown, had a marbled, blue texture. And her pale chestnut hair had frizzed up into a harried cloud of tangles. "Just look like you fell down the stairs and landed on your nose at two-thirty in the morning, that's all."_

_The vision disappeared, but Cordelia couldn't shake it from her memory as she traced the rugged scars with her index finger. The grin left her face, replaced by a flat frown. "I look like they put my face through a meatgrinder."_

_"You're being too hard on yourself. You look just fine. Turn around here, and I'll braid your hair." Cordelia obeyed in a few clumsy shuffles so that Misty could climb onto the sofa beside her. The cushion sank behind her so that she almost fell backward, and she held onto the arm of the chair for support. "'S all right if you knock into me. I'm not gonna break." Misty gathered a bit of her hair and began to work through it with a couple strokes of the brush. "I used to do my sister's hair all the time. She loved having it braided."_

_The contact sent Cordelia a memory of a blonde girl cheering with a well-spun braid on the back of her head. "That sounds lovely," she said. She wondered if Misty was also a blonde, or if her thick hair came in a darker shade._

_"My sister was a sweetheart, sure. Now, if I pull too hard, you let me know."_

_"Will do." But Misty never tugged at her scalp enough to cause pain. In fact, the sensation of her fingers against her skin calmed her into a state near sleep. She saw memories and shadows of Misty's mind, almost like dreams to Cordelia's sleeping mind. The off-key version of "Landslide" that Misty hummed served as the track music to the montage of church services, of saving dead animals, of family gatherings._

_Too soon, the girl tied the braid. "Do you want to go back upstairs?" she pressed in a placid tone as she disentangled herself from the cushion and Cordelia's cramped legs._

_"No, I'll stay here tonight."_

_"I'll stay with you," Misty offered, voice somehow too bright and eager for the hour; she reined herself in and continued, more meekly, "If you don't mind the company."_

_Cordelia hesitated. "You don't have to—I'll be fine by myself. I don't need a babysitter." A silent moment passed as Misty tutted uncertainly. She could smell the apprehension, could sense it in the other's hovering behavior. "But you can if you like," she allowed._

_A smooth, consoling feeling settled in the pit of her gut as Misty released a sigh of relief. "I'll get us some blankets."_

Cordelia remembered that night with the utmost fondness, as she had awoken the next morning with Misty's head in her lap, the hair everywhere, and she had embraced the lonely witch who had patched her together. Her hair smelled wild, like berries and honeysuckle. When Fiona came downstairs and asked questions, Misty had roused, and without missing a beat, she lied to the Supreme. "I had a nightmare," she had said, "and Miss Cordelia woke me up and stayed with me so it wouldn't come back."

It felt like Cordelia had entered a nightmare when she awoke every morning and saw the urn filled with Misty's remains upon her dresser. Belly boiling with rage and hurt, she cranked the car. "Gotta go to the church," she muttered under her breath. She could remember once she had Misty back.

...

Zoe sucked in a deep breath as she struck the ground of the underworld. Immediately, she sat bolt upright. "Queenie!" she gasped. "Queenie, where are you?" Her panic stricken eyes roamed the area. She had landed in the center of a deserted dirt road with deep ditches, a sparse deciduous forest on either side. An expanse of brown grass rose just off the road; it held a wooden farmhouse with a pond behind it. "Queenie!"

"I'm over here, girl." The black witch hauled herself up out one of the ditches. "Where in the hell are we? Looks like we're headed for some shanty town in the ninth ward, is what it looks like." She dusted off the front of her shirt and approached Zoe with a narrow look in her eyes. "I don't suppose you told that spell to drop us off right next to Misty or Nan, did ya? We're gonna be wandering around for days!" She offered Zoe a hand and pulled her to her feet. "But we're definitely not in my hell, anyway, so that's a good thing." She wheeled around. "What's that bright light over there?" she asked, gesturing with one burly finger.

Zoe followed her pointed hand. The white light hovered about three feet above the ground. "I think that's our portal," she replied, wiping the dust from her face with one palm. "We have to come back here with Misty and Nan once we've found them. It'll take us back to the real world—at least, I hope it will."

"Here's to hoping," Queenie muttered. She shrugged. "Well, I think we ought to start with that house. It's the shortest walk. Unless you've got a better plan?"

"What if that's Papa Legba's house?"

"Honey, look at it. It's hideous! Papa Legba made this whole place, he can afford to make himself a goddamn mansion. That little shack has got to be somebody's hell. Maybe whoever it is will have an idea of where to go from here. C'mon. It's the shortest walk. I ain't here to get fit. I'm gonna find some bitches and get the hell outta here." Queenie strutted across the ditch and up the ugly, bare yard. Zoe scrambled after her in hot pursuit. "Maybe living in an ugly house was Misty's worst nightmare."

Zoe snorted. "You never saw her cabin. This would be like heaven for her. I bet it actually has running water. And floors that aren't dirt." She shook her head. "Her hell is probably looking for Stevie Nicks records and breaking every one that she touches."

"Oh! Harsh," Queenie hooted. She kicked up a mound of dusty soil. "Well, whoever is here ain't taking care of the grass at all. You'd think they would take eternity to make a couple renovations to this shit-hole."

They climbed the unfinished wooden porch; it rocked underfoot. The door, the only fashionable thing about the place, was a solid black like smooth leather. It had a golden doorknob, and at eye level, it held two elegant golden letters:  _FG_. "So do we just...knock?" Zoe guessed, lifting one fist but hesitating to rap upon the door. She turned to look at Queenie for some support or denial.

"Sounds like a plan to me," provided the other witch. "Just saying that, if something scary comes out of there, I'm tripping your ass and running back to that portal, to hell with Misty and Nan."

"Literally," Zoe muttered in return. She swallowed hard. "Here goes nothing." With her knuckles, she rapped three times upon the hard wooden door. The sound echoed back in the silence. They waited with baited breath for the door to open. Zoe's tongue darted across her lips.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door creaked open a crack. A single brown eye appeared. "Who the hell—" The voice cut off at a sharp scuffling somewhere deeper in the home. The woman rounded upon them. "Girls? Queenie? Zoe?"

"Who is it, honey?" rumbled a gravelly voice from around the corner. "Let 'em in. They can share supper with us. Catfish and collard greens—the way god intended it, right, sweetums?"

"Fiona?" Queenie scoffed. "Your hell is an ugly house?"

The axeman called again, "Let them in, honey!" A chair scraped on the hardwood floor, and solid boots echoed as he approached. "What's the hold up? We haven't had guests in an eternity!"

Zoe kicked the door open and grabbed Fiona by the arm, dragging her through the doorframe. "Close it! Close it! Don't let him out!" shrieked the former Supreme as she staggered onto the porch. Queenie snapped it shut right in the axeman's face. Fiona caught her balance and grasped the unstable porch railing with a grunt of relief. "What the hell are you both doing here? Has Cordelia killed you, as well?"

"Cordelia hasn't killed anyone," Zoe retorted. "We're looking for Misty and Nan. We just happened to find you first."

A sneer rose to Fiona's lips, but before she could snap back at the young witches about respect, the axeman roared from within the cabin. Her facade wavered. "I'll help you find them," she grunted after a moment. "Just don't make me go back in there with him. Alright?"

For a moment, Zoe and Queenie exchanged a glance. Then, Queenie said, "Deal." She held out her hand, and they shook on it. "Tell us what you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Cordelia's footsteps crunched over the gravel parking lot as she approached the doors to the small community church; it had a modern sign with removable letters like a fastfood chain. Today, it read, "Children of Christ Daycare. Open M-F 8-5. Inquire within." She found the glass door unlocked and entered. Compared to some of the grandiose churches in New Orleans, the premises were hardly prepossessing, but it was much cleaner than the home she had just left. The thin carpet muted the sound of her footsteps. Down the hall, she could hear the cheers of a few children; to her right, the sanctuary was open but empty. It had a vaulted ceiling and fans at the very top.

"Miss?" summoned a voice. She turned to face an elderly woman with deep wrinkles around her blue eyes. Her hair had faded to gray; it had a frizzy texture. "Can I help you?"

_Too damn many new people in one day._  "Yes," Cordelia answered with a small smile. "I'm looking for Rosemary, if she's here. I was told she was at work here right now."

The woman crossed her arms. "You've found her, honey. I get off in ten minutes. What do you need?"

"I… I was directed here by your grandson, Jeremy. I need to talk to you—"

"About Misty, right? Everybody and their damn mother needs to hear me talk about Misty. Can't be honest to any of them. They wouldn't believe me, anyhow." Rosemary turned away and stroked a hand through her hair. "C'mon with me, then, sweetie. Can't have you melting if somebody dumps holy water on you." Cordelia's brow furrowed, and the woman glanced back at her. "Don't act like you got me fooled. You  _reek_  of witch." Cordelia flinched at the woman's sharp tone. "Stay here. I'll walk you to my house and we can talk. It's not safe here." Rosemary rounded the corner, and Cordelia could hear her report to another woman that she would head home early—she had a visitor.

The woman had a heavy leather purse and bright eyes. "Don't say anything too loudly," she warned. "I've seen you on the TV. You're lucky no one has recognized you." She strutted with long-legged strides out of the church. "This isn't the big city. You're not safe here." Once the door had closed securely behind them, she turned to face Cordelia. "I would guess that you already know what they did to my sweet granddaughter. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Cordelia set her jaw, uncertain how to answer. "I—yes, sort of."

"Sort of?" Rosemary puffed. "I'm sure I could never grasp all of it. Keep up. My house is just across the lawn." In spite of her age, Cordelia nearly had to jog to keep up with the elderly woman. The yard of the church was freshly mowed. They headed down into a ditch and climbed up the other side, coming into the backyard of a small, modest house. "You're quite a bit late. Misty died almost a year ago. The authorities won't press charges against my son. The sheriff was there that night." As she fumbled for her keys in her purse, her lips twisted downward. "They had it in for Misty. She knew it, I knew it. I tell her, I say, 'Misty, you gotta get the hell out of this place before they chop off your damn legs,' but she says, she says, 'Gran, I can't leave. They'll kill my dog if I leave.'" The door popped open. "She was wrong. That goddamn dog is still suffering over there, shitting in the floor." With a wry shake of her head, Rosemary held the door open for Cordelia to enter. "Well, c'mon, honey, if you're going in. We can't stand around in the sun talking for any fool to hear. I, for one, don't plan on dying without Misty around to bring me back."

Cordelia shuffled into the home. "You knew about her powers, then?"

"Knew about them? Honey, _I_  was the first person she ever brought back to life." The old woman cackled. "My mama was a witch—the real brand of them. Making things float around the house, doing all her chores for her." She dropped her things on the kitchen table, where a cat rested, all stretched out. "My mama died before she turned forty. She got the consumption. My little sister—name was Misty, too—she could set things on fire by looking at 'em. They drowned her when she was sixteen." Opening a carton of cigarettes, she offered one to Cordelia, who shook her head. She shrugged and lit it up. "What did you say your name was, hon?"

"Cordelia Foxx, ma'am."

"Nonsense, sweetie, call me Rosemary. So you're the principal of that fancy magic school in New Orleans, yeah?"

"I'm the Supreme witch of the coven there, yes."

The woman blew a ring of gray smoke. "Sounds fancy. Anyhow." She coughed into her hand. "I didn't think I had a shred of magic. I could stare at a pencil for hours and not do nothing but give myself a migraine. You either have it or you don't, and I didn't. When my sister died, I thought it ended with her." She pulled back a chair at the kitchen table in front of the lounging cat. "Sit down, honey. I'll get you something to drink and put on a record. A little background noise. Give the cat a scratch, dear. He won't hurt you."

Cordelia's tongue darted over her dry tongue as she tentatively scratched around the cat's thick neck fur. He purred in response. "When—When did you first know that there was something different about Misty?"

The elder flicked on a record player. Fleetwood Mac began to rock forth in scratchy tones. "Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetie. I've got a lot of story to tell." Rosemary brought a glass of water to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair opposite her. "My family died before my son was born. I told him about the witches much as I knew—he didn't give a damn. Thought it was a folk story just like Santa Clause and the Easter bunny. He was always pretty thick. Then he married that Evangelical whore when she was knocked up." Her cigarette went out, and she lit it again.

"I didn't believe it was his until I held that little girl for the first time. Looked into her sweet blue eyes, and knew she couldn't have been anybody's but mine. She was too perfect. That was when I knew—immediately. You probably think I'm full of shit, because all grandmothers think their first grandkids are the best stuff on earth, but it's the goddamn truth. You could look into her eyes and see how much she loved the world."

Hesitant, Cordelia replied, "I believe that." She tried not to think of the baby that she and Hank had wanted to have—before she knew his real identity, before he revealed how little he actually cared.

A smile tinted Rosemary's face. "She showed the signs early on. It started with the Disney princess type stuff. You could put her out in the yard, and the birds would land around her. Always loved animals. They always loved her." She killed her cigarette and put it down in a dish, blowing a final stream of smoke from between her lips. "When she was five years old, my cat got hit by a car." She nodded to the purring furball under Cordelia's friendly touch. "She was distraught. I went and buried him, and she went behind me and dug him back up. When he came back to life, part of me wanted to kill him again, just to make sure it wasn't some kind of _Pet Sematary_  bullshit going on. But he wasn't acting evil. He was the same as always, and Misty was happy."

"But that was just the first time."

"Just the first time," confirmed the old woman. She cleared her throat. "She brought him back again a few years ago when he had kidney failure. He's older than her. Still fit as a fiddle. Anyway, I don't think you care about all the damn animals that Misty revived. It would take me an hour to tell you all of them. She found something to heal no matter where she went."

Cordelia took a sip from the glass of water and waited for the grandmother to continue. "When she was eight, I was driving her to the hospital to see her newborn brother. I was keeping her while Teresa was laboring. Hell, I kept her more than they did, regardless." Rosemary puffed heavily. "I turned out in front of a semi. It hit us right in the door. Flattened my car. It knocked me out for a bit, and when I woke up, there was blood everywhere. My arm was almost ripped off." She rolled up her sleeve to show a narrow scar, similar to Kyle's. "The car was on fire. Misty had big clots of oil and soot and blood in her hair. I tell her, I say, 'Misty, get out of the car. Go and get help.' And she say, 'It's okay, Gran, I can fix us both right up. Don't worry about nothing, Gran.'" A dry chuckle rose up. "The paramedics told us we were both miracles. There was no way the car could've been the way it was and both of us come out without a scratch."

"That's amazing."

"That was the first time she saved a person. She saved Mary when Teresa decided to have an unassisted home-birth. Breathed the life right back into that baby. Teresa was always an idiot. Didn't take care of none of those babies. I raised Misty and Jeremy, Misty raised Mary. I dread the day she has another one." Rosemary looked up to Cordelia with clear eyes. "I know you're not here to listen to my ramblings. What do you want to do with Misty, really?"

The Supreme pushed the glass of water away from herself. "After Misty was killed, she didn't—stay dead." Her lips twitched. "One of my students found her in the swamp. She was living off of the land, alone. After witch hunters entered the area, she came to live with my coven to be safe."

"I knew it! I knew they couldn't have killed her that easily!" Rosemary hooted. "A few days after they reported her missing, my record player and a bunch of my Stevie records were gone. No note—but I knew it had to be Misty. Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you."

A wan smile touched Cordelia's lips. "Yes. She revived several people for my coven. We had a dark time under the previous Supreme. But…" She shook her head. "I made a mistake. When our previous Supreme died, I—I was blind to my own power. We didn't know who would replace her. It caused a panic in the coven." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was a fool. The remaining council member and I had each of the girls attempt to complete a task—seven tasks. To prove their magical ability, to determine who would lead. Misty didn't want to participate. I convinced her that she needed to. It—It was all my fault."

"I take it that this story doesn't have an incredibly happy ending," purred Rosemary with a voice like poisoned honey, and Cordelia's chest cavity swelled with emptiness for a moment at the danger of the moment. How would she feel if someone had killed her daughter, her granddaughter?

Her voice shivered. "The third task required each of the girls to descend into hell—the witch's version of hell—and return before it was too late. The others woke up one by one, but Misty never did." The tears burbled to the surface and shed so that she could no longer focus clearly upon Rosemary's face. "I tried everything I knew. I tried to revive her, I called to her, I held her. I tried every spell I knew. Nothing worked. She-She turned to ash in my arms." She used her knuckles to rub away the tears. "I am so—so sorry." Her voice choked, and she stopped trying to speak. She no longer looked through the tears to the elderly woman, for through the haze, she could only imagine that Misty herself sat across from her.

"Now, now, dear, don't fret. Here." Rosemary thrust a handkerchief at her. "Wipe your nose. I know you didn't come all the way here to blow your snot all over my cat. Compose yourself, darling. Tell me what you need from me."

Feeling like a weepy child in front of Auntie Myrtle, she dabbed at her eyes and struggled to focus on the matter at hand as she stuffed away her emotions. "Misty's death was my fault," she murmured. "I need to try to bring her back. If you have anything of hers—anything that might help me unlock the secret of her magic—I want to try to make it up to her. Misty is so special, and she deserves—she deserves so much better."

"You were in love with her," Rosemary stated in a blunt voice.

"W-What? No—I was her  _teacher_ —"

"Oh, don't kid yourself. My granddaughter is gayer than a picnic basket, and you're hardly old enough to qualify as her teacher. You're weeping like a lost lovebird. A monarch butterfly that lost its swarm. You wouldn't be here otherwise." Rosemary pushed back from the table. The cat bounced off of the table and wrapped around her ankles. "Come with me. I'll take you to her room. I got as much of her stuff as I could when I saw Paul taking it to the dump. Rifled through what was salvageable. He tried to destroy most of it. Bastard."

Cordelia scampered after the woman, reluctant to argue her point when Rosemary was granting her so much freedom—and not killing her for what she had done. Rosemary pointed to one of the two bedrooms off of the narrow hallway. "In there is everything. It hasn't been touched since I saved it. I'm not allowed to see the other grandkids anymore. Now it's just me and Thomas." She bent down and scooped up the cat. "Stay as long as you want, take whatever helps. I'll leave you to it."

Her voice came in a low, barely audible whisper. "Th-Thank you." The woman left her, and the door clicked closed behind her. Cordelia walked to the twin-sized bed and sat down on it. The room hadn't aged. Misty had displayed posters of Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks; she had an electric keyboard plugged into the wall. The sheet music hadn't been disturbed. Cordelia ran her fingers over the keys, and the vision responded in turn.

"Gran! Gran, come listen!" Misty was no older than twelve, Rosemary ten years younger as she appeared in the door frame. "I got it!" She banged a couple chords. "Listen, it's like this. 'The bright light is lying down. The earth and the sea and the sky is at rest with the ocean, and the days go by.'" Her grin brightened. "Was that right?"

"By George, I think it was."

"Yes!" The cat, younger and plumper, pounced up onto the keyboard and made a horrendous slamming of keys. "Thomas, no! You'll hurt Stevie!" The giggling girl wrapped her arms around him and kissed him once on the top of the head before she released him back onto the floor.

Cordelia opened her eyes. She touched everything, then, everything that answered, but it gave her memories and snippets—Misty and Rosemary picking flowers, Misty drawing in her sketchbook, Misty and Rosemary sharing the stories of their lineage. Feeling like an intruder, she opened the diary when she found it, but Misty had stopped keeping it around the time that she graduated high school. Cordelia put it in her purse anyway, along with a stuffed animal and a faded blanket, which held memories so strong that she could have viewed them for hours. She opened the closet and found several shawls and scarves; she couldn't fit all of them in her bag. She chose the nicest one and rounded on the bookshelf, but the only worn titles were the  _Harry Potter_  books and Misty's Bible, which she took.

She had a goldmine of access to Misty, and yet she felt no closer to saving her than she'd been when she was at the academy this morning. Swallowing hard, she circled once just to soak in the view. This was a place that Misty had lived and loved. She had lain on that bed and drawn that picture and hung that poster—and all of it was a memory of her. "I will fix this," she whispered to the empty air. "I promise, I'll fix this. I'll bring you back, if it's the last thing that I do."

After smoothing down the covers on the bed, she took her leave from the room. Rosemary had returned to the living room and perched on the couch, smoking another cigarette. The cat lounged in her lap like it was his personal bed."I hope you found what you're looking for." The elderly woman smile and stood, batting the cat back onto the floor. "Be careful on the way back to your car. Keep an eye out for yourself. Locals don't like the looks of outsiders."

"Thank you."

"And, Cordelia?" Blue eyes found brown, and only deep laugh lines separated her from her granddaughter. "Bring her back to me. Take good care of her." Her expression softened. "Misty loves everyone, but when she truly gives her heart to someone—that's forever. You can't undo that. Don't hurt her. I trust you."

She swallowed hard once. "I'll have her back here as soon as I can," she promised. Her tongue had swollen like a sponge in her mouth; everything felt dry. "And I'll never let her go again. I swear that on my life. I made this mistake already, and I owe her everything I can give her to make it up."

"That's a doll." Rosemary grinned. "I always knew my girl would find somebody just as special as she was." She patted Cordelia once on the shoulder. "Have a safe trip home. I hope to hear from you soon." Cordelia stepped out into the warm evening air, and Rosemary closed the door behind her.

She waited a moment on the porch and inhaled the sweet scent of freshly mowed grass. Somehow, her burden felt both larger and smaller at the same time, each breath more labored but still nearer to Misty than she had been this morning. With the sun at her back, she headed back to her car, head down and mind reeling with worries of how she could possibly set to reviving her fallen friend.

Friend? Was that all? Would she leave it at friend? There was so much unresolved that she couldn't begin to address. Her tumultuous feelings reminded her of the way she drew to Misty, a moth to a light. She loved Misty—she wouldn't deny that—but how she loved her remained in question. "I can fix those fuck-ups later," she reminded herself aloud as she unlocked her car and climbed into the driver's seat. The CD began to play again from where it had left off.

" _Do I love you every night? Well I always did. Nobody knows nothin' 'bout it._ " She put the car in drive, turned around in the church parking lot, and headed back to New Orleans. She had work to do.

…

The dirt road where Queenie and Zoe followed Fiona stretched on for miles, and they walked until their bones ached, and they walked some more. "Do you even know where you're taking us?" Queenie had demanded more than once in a snarl. There was no sun here; the sky held the same gray hue no matter the hour. The temperature never changed, somehow both hot and cold, equally uncomfortable. The foliage had died on all sides, like a bleak autumn day turning to winter. Several times, they had passed other doors with different letters embroidered upon the wood, but they hadn't yet opened another in spite of the moans that rolled forth from them.

"You girls were foolish to come here," Fiona reminded them in a sharp tone. "You cannot thwart Papa Legba. He created the witch and gave her her powers. You ought to show a bit more respect than to fiddle with his plan."

"Why are you helping us, then, if you're so certain that we're dooming ourselves by even coming here?" Zoe snapped. Fiona's words made a snake of anxiety writhe to life in the pit of her gut. As much as she wanted to despise the former Supreme, she knew that Fiona was a powerful witch who knew more about magic lore than she and Queenie combined. "We can drop you back off with the axeman and find our own way, no cost to you."

"Don't be so impudent, girl. You'll need my help if you're going to get out of this alive." As they rounded another corner, the dirt road gave way to an expanse of houses. Fiona paused mid-step to appraise the sight, inhaling deeply through her nostrils. "Contrary to what you may think, I no longer claim the coven. But Cordelia is a sensitive girl. If she loses more of her wards, she will lose what's left of her damn mind, and I will  _not_  have her ruining my legacy."

Queenie rolled her eyes. "Legacy. Right." She crossed her arms and glared up at the houses. "Where the hell are we?" She glanced left and right. "This is—" Rounding on Fiona, her eyes flashed with anger. "This is Delphine's house! Just down the street, isn't it? Isn't it?"

Fiona inclined her eyebrows. "Indeed it is. You may be surprised the sorts of people who have this variety of hell."

Zoe glowered. "We're not idiots. You're looking for someone. You're taking our quest and turning it into your own agenda." She set her heels. "Just like you did when you were alive!" she accused. She turned to Queenie. "She's coming after Marie Laveau! She wants to figure out how to come back to life!"

The blonde woman set her jaw. "I have no interest in returning to the land of the living," she uttered, tone stern. "And this business of locating your friends will become much easier if we have powerful companions. Marie Laveau happens to be one of the options in this scenario, and my inkling tells me that her hell is right up there in the attic of that house. If you will get out of my way, we can stop wasting valuable time."

Zoe's lip curled. "Why should we trust you?" she demanded. "You killed Nan in the first place! And if you wouldn't have been such a goddamn lazy, horrible Supreme, Misty never would've died in that trial! We're here on account of you being a damn bitch—"

Her sentence cut off in the middle as she floated by her throat, invisible pincers grasping her there. She gasped and choked. "Mind your tongue, girl." Fiona held her hand out with a challenging tilt of her head. "Do not challenge matters which you will never understand. Do I make myself clear?" Zoe managed a nod. She dropped back to the earth with a grunt, and Queenie helped tug her back up to her feet. "We're going to awaken Marie Laveau. Once we have her help, she can help us track down your little Hogwarts friends. Whether you trust me or not, I've decided the plan. You can come with me, or you can stagger around on your own, blind and confused while you wait for Papa Legba to find you and punish you."

A trail of bruises darkened around Zoe's throat, and she glowered after Fiona, but she sauntered after the former Supreme as the blonde entered the mansion Madame LaLaurie. As predicted, doors left and right were practically stacked on top of one another, labeled with the same gold initials. They made a single-file line up the stairs, then up to the attic. The door had a double label. "Looks like we found 'em," Queenie observed at the emboldened, "ML/DL." Groaning and moaning uttered from the other side; the owners of the voices would, perhaps, never be truly identified. "Sounds like hell's going down in there," Queenie said, lip curling at the edge.

"That's exactly what's happening in there," Fiona replied tartly. She twisted the golden doorknob and pushed it open. Marie Laveau's dark shadow came into view first, a hot poker in one hand. In the other, she wrenched open the mouth of an unfamiliar white woman in a cage. "Marie!" Fiona snapped.

At the sight of them, a whimper rose from the cage beside the young white woman's. Queenie turned her head. "Delphine!" she exclaimed, eyes widening. "What the hell? Marie! Put down that damn poker!"

The voodoo woman turned slowly with her head tilted. She blinked once, twice, and then said in a monotone, "I cannot stop. Papa Legba says I cannot stop. This is my punishment." It was mechanical, like she had rehearsed the line in her head over and over. "I must live my worst crimes until the end of time. I must experience the pain I inflicted upon others and cause it again—and again—and again." She inserted the rod down the woman's throat. The woman in the cage writhed, grunted, and after almost a minute, she fell silent and still. "Don't worry. She'll come back to life in a moment or two. She always does."

Fiona snatched the poker away from her and slapped her across the face. "Wake up, woman! We have things to get accomplished, and your madness will not be tolerated here!" She tossed the poker haphazardly. It clanged and sizzled on the floor. "Free this woman! We've got shit to do!"

As Marie blinked in consideration, waiting for recognition to come, Queenie went for the keyring dangling on the wall and rushed to free Delphine from her cage. "You—You killed me," accused the portly woman from within the metal cage. She clasped the bars with wide green eyes fixed upon the black witch. "You killed me," she repeated.

"Well, I changed my mind again. C'mon outta there, girl. We need your help."

Marie turned to the two living girls. "You two just couldn't keep your noses out of the business of the dead, could you? You had to return and free the demons from their crypts. Witches never know how to mind their own and keep their own."

Lip curling, Zoe snapped, "We're not here to bring you back to life!" She crossed her arms irritably. "We're here to revive Misty and Nan. Anybody else who tags along better have a damn good cause to come back to life. We're just fixing the mess that you all made when you were too busy chasing immortality to notice that the coven was crumbling!"

Fiona hissed with a clenched fist. "Remember what I told you, girl, about minding your goddamn tone. We are still your superiors, and you will treat us as such."

With a snap of Zoe's fingers, Fiona's hair lit on fire. "Get off your goddamn high horse. We're wasting time arguing." The blonde locks sizzled back down to nothing but a smolder, apparently undamaged—benefits of the afterlife. To Marie, Zoe said, "Can you help us find our friends or not?"

The voodoo woman inclined her head. "I can. But I know someone who can do it better." With an open hand, she gestured to the Minotaur across the room. "Bastien will lead you to anyone."

Delphine scoffed, "And then he'll gore them to death!" She shuffled close behind Queenie, as if planning to use her as a human shield. "I don't want to find out what happens if we get killed when we're already dead, you stupid Negress."

"Hey!" Queenie threatened. "Don't make me throw you back in that goddamn cage, 'cause I'll do it!" Delphine sucked her teeth in silence and stared down at the floor. "That's better."

Marie crossed her arms. "You can take Bastien's help or leave it. I can make no promises. He tends to get antsy around white women."

Wincing a bit, Zoe touched Queenie's arm. "We better not. We're trying to revive them, not send them to some deeper pit of hell. But—really, we need to go. Every minute we spend here is a minute that Cordelia could find us. Once she knows what we've done, she's going to  _freak_  the hell out."

"Seconded," Fiona provided. The blonde turned clipped back down the attic ladder with Marie Laveau in hot pursuit. They trailed down one by one until they were on the street once again. "We should break into two groups," Fiona clipped.

"Who put you in charge?" Marie demanded.

Both Zoe and Queenie rolled their eyes skyward as Fiona retorted, "Do you have a better idea, then?"

A moment's consideration before Marie said, "Two groups it is."

Fiona inclined one brow. "I thought so." She crossed her arms and analyzed the group for a moment, as if waiting for the perfect match to occur to her. "Clearly, our talent pool is shallower than a dry riverbed. I'll take Zoe to look for our Cajun princess, and you three go to find that clairvoyant girl."

"What do we do once we've found them?" Queenie asked, thrusting out a hip.

Her brown eyes settled upon the opposing group. "You take your spirit back to the portal and cross over. Hope the other person will do the same once they have the opportunity. This is not the moment for heroism."

Ambivalence curled in Zoe's gut. She swallowed once. "I agree," she said finally, lifting her head to meet Queenie's eyes. "If one of us can't find the other, we take Nan or Misty and get Cordelia's help to come back. It will be safer that way."

A frightened smile, an attempted reassurance, twitched onto Queenie's lips. "See you on the other side, then."

"See you."

As Zoe turned to follow Fiona, she brushed the single tear off of her cheek and hurried to keep up with the former Supreme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

As Cordelia rolled up the driveway at the academy, she noted with a pang the silence of it all; so many girls had gone their own paths for the weekend. Perhaps she would have a few moments with Zoe and Queenie—not that she particularly cared for that. Zoe could see everything in her face. It troubled her, wearing so much on her sleeve, but unlike her mother, she had never grown skilled at blocking her face from betraying her emotions.

She locked the car and took out the CD, stuffing it into her purse with the rest of Misty's artifacts, and clambered out onto the crunchy stone. The car horn beeped once to indicate that she had locked it. Opening the front door, she called, "Zoe? Queenie?" Nothing moved. Upstairs, feet pounded down the hall, and some laughter floated down. _Well, at least someone's home_ , she acknowledged as she took off her shoes. She raked a single hand through her hair and started up the stairs. It was unlike Zoe and Queenie to leave the academy unsupervised while she wasn't home, and while she hadn't asked them to stay, she trusted that they understood the implicit duty she left behind. "Girls?" She knocked on their bedroom door. "Girls?"

Sharp footsteps came down the hall. Kyle wore an eerie flat line upon his lips, not a smile nor a frown. His dull eyes glinted to her as he spoke. "Queenie ran out of potato chips," he delivered in a crisp, cool voice. "She and Zoe went to the store to get some more. They told me they didn't know when they would be back, but that you shouldn't worry. They had things to do."

Fuddling her brow, Cordelia held his gaze for a long moment. "Things to do?" she repeated. The butler nodded once. Her mind reverberated the scene from this morning, seemingly years ago now, when Zoe and Queenie had concealed the book from her. Kyle, though, turned as if to dismiss himself. She grappled for words for a moment. "Kyle!" She trotted after him with clipped strides, and he stopped to wait for her. "What things? It takes ten minutes to get the store and back. How long have they been gone?"

"Zoe told me to tell you not to worry," Kyle advised again. "They'll be back with Queenie's potato chips." He turned to walk away, and this time, when she pursued him, he didn't slow.

Mouth twisting into a distasteful frown, Cordelia cursed that she had ever agreed to hire Zoe's weird, undead boyfriend. "That wasn't what I asked you. Kyle! Don't walk away from me! Oh, god." She stopped to lean on the railing, looking back down into the foyer below. With the heel of one hand, she wiped her brow and cursed under her breath. "I can't catch a goddamn break, can I?" The Supreme heaved a sigh and stormed down the hall into her bedroom. She slammed the door in her wake.

Clothes and other items were strewn about haphazardly where she had torn through the package of Misty's things the previous night and found nothing helpful. With a grunt, she upturned her purse and dumped the contents on her bed. From the pile of trinkets, she plucked her cell phone. She tried Zoe first, but it went straight to voicemail. "Zoe, wherever you are Queenie are, come home. Call me when you get this." Queenie's rang three times before it cut off; she hadn't set up her voicemail, so it left Cordelia no option to berate them for disappearing without a word or reason. "I can't believe this."

She perched on the edge of the bed and glanced out of the corner of her eye at the items that she had brought from Rosemary's home. Her hands grazed the shawl first. It flashed a bright memory of Rosemary and Misty twirling about the kitchen while a record spun onward. Lifting it to her face, she inhaled the sweet scent of Misty's perfume, now faded but still intrinsic to the fabric. Letting go of it, even to place it back on the bed, hurt something within her. She draped it over her shoulders and let the soft cloth envelop her.

The Bible was next. Several post-it notes served as bookmarks, and she thumbed open to the first one. She had underlined a paragraph in black ink. " _Meanwhile, all the people were wailing and mourning for her. 'Stop wailing,' Jesus said. 'She is not dead, but asleep.' They laughed at him, knowing that she was dead. But he took her by the hand and said, 'My child, get up!' Her spirit returned, and at once, she stood up._ "

Turning to the next bookmark, another passage was highlighted in bright yellow. " _When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out!' The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, 'Take off his grave clothes and let him go.'_ "

Cordelia closed her eyes and let her hand trace the words. "Gran?" Misty's voice shook her as the scene appeared once again. The girl cradled her Bible in her arms as she perched on the edge of Rosemary's couch. School books were bundled underneath her. She had a bloody nose and a black eye. "You always said I was like Jesus—bringin' people back from the dead an' all." Fat tears glistened on her cheeks.

"Yes, dear." Rosemary dabbed at a cut above her eye with a wet washcloth before she secured a bandaid over the tiny wound.

"Then how come they treat me so bad?" She used the back of one hand to smear away her tears, leaving her face streaked and pink. "I ain't done nothin' to them. I just brung a little frog back to life." Her shoulders shuddered as she wept. "I don' wanna be nobody's savior! I just want them to let me alone!"

The elderly woman tutted under her breath. "Jesus had his opponents, too, honey, you know. They crucified him. Maybe you skipped that lesson in Sunday school." She brushed some of the tears away with the pad of her thumb. "But you listen here, okay? You can't let them people bully you like that. That teacher has gotten something comin' for him if he thinks I'll stand by and let him treat my little girl like this. Slicing up a live animal ain't nothin' meant for no normal person…"

The statement prompted Misty to dissolve into tears again, and before Cordelia could see more, the scene disappeared. She slammed the Bible shut with a grunt. Were memories all that remained of Misty's existence? Could she get no real hints to her whereabouts?  _It showed me when she was in the coffin_ , she reminded herself. But the urn holding Misty's remains was only a few feet away from her; she needed no magic to see it, to touch it, to experience the reality and gravity of her loss. Cordelia wiped her brow. She had sprouted into a sweat trying so hard to see something of meaning. Pushing the Bible off of her lap, she grabbed the diary, but it gave her an image of a boy ripping pages out of it and peeing on them while another held Misty down; a few pages later, she saw bland images of Misty writing in the book.

"Good god, Misty, just send me something—I need something." Cordelia shook her head. "Please." She discarded the diary and next took the stuffed animal, a white horse, and the tattered blanket. Both held more than their fair share of stains, and immediately, memories poured from them—cuddled together in bed—holding them while watching a scary movie—sitting on the bed while she did her homework—giving them to Mary—the dog chewing on them.

"No, no, this isn't helping." Cordelia smeared another tear off of her cheek, but she didn't relinquish either object. They both smelled like her, like the air she left behind when she passed, herbal and earthy but still somehow exotic. Cordelia's vision flittered in great waves as she struggled to focus on anything, woozy, like she neared the point of fainting. Her eyes shut again. The visions flashed to her, but she ignored them.  _Dig deeper. Deeper. Deeper._

Something hazed in a shimmer, like a reflection in a puddle, before her, and Cordelia's knuckles tightened so that they streaked white with exertion. She focused on Misty first, all hunched over in a tiny ball, hands drawn up over her ears and tears rolling freely down her cheeks. She had turned her back to something, but her clothes were bloodstained. A frog hopped from beneath one of her legs. When she caught sight of it, she tried to seize it and stuff it back into hiding, but it croaked.

Immediately, sharp footsteps rang toward her. The instructor grabbed her by her stained shirt and tossed her hard against the desk. "If you won't dissect a dead frog," he threatened, "you'll dissect a live one."

Misty whimpered as he wrenched the frog away from her. "No—no," she gasped, like she was losing her voice, like she had seen this too many times and knew its inevitability. "You can't make me harm a livin' thing—please—don't make me." She protested and attempted to dislodge his grasp upon her, but he didn't loosen his hold, eternally strong. He took the scalpel in her hand and jerked downward in a too-deep slash so that the frog's guts and blood spilled out and shot into Misty's hair and clothes. She mewled a wail through closed lips and bit one fist, eyes shut tight, rocking herself back and forth as if she could find comfort that way.

Vice-like hands seized Cordelia round the shoulders and pinned her backward to the bed. Her scream caught in her throat as her eyes fluttered wide open into his scarlet gaze. "Leave it! You don't belong here!" Papa Legba vanished as soon as he had uttered the words, but Cordelia's whole body trembled, frozen to the top of the comforter as if he still held her fixed in place. Her lips and fingers quivered in a panic while the tears trickled down her cheeks in narrow tracks.  _It isn't fair,_  she wanted to say, but her voice refused to operate as breath rustled past in terror-stricken gasps.  _She deserves better._

Shuddering, Cordelia rolled the blanket into a tight ball and squeezed it under her chin so that she could smell its scent. She didn't trust herself to sit up steadily yet, but the feeling of the rough fabric against her face grounded her. "I'm going to find you," she whispered to the cloth. "I'm going to bring you home, and I'll take you to a goddamn Stevie Nicks concert once a month for the rest of your life if it makes you happy." The vision of Misty's hell wouldn't leave her. It seemed so innocent. It would hardly faze another person, let alone qualify as something fit for hell. But to Misty, who respected all life, who had empathy for all things, Cordelia knew that each time she sliced into that frog, a part of her died. "No more," she vowed. "I'm coming for you."

She grappled a bit for the strength to pull herself back upright and gave an appraising glance at her mussed bed. Her lip hadn't stopped its trembling. The wet on her cheek stung. She didn't care. With gingerly fingers, she plucked up the picture that she had taken from the Day residence—the one featuring Misty and her dog—and pressed it into the front pocket of her jeans. Then, with a sigh, she took her phone and called Queenie and Zoe again, but when neither of them answer, she rolled over to pen a note and jogged back to their room.

To her surprise, Kyle hovered outside the door like a guard. He attempted to look nonchalant, but his back straightened when Cordelia came down the hall. She drew herself to feel a little bit taller, though he still had six inches on her. With her lip gnarled into an expression of dissatisfaction, she approached. "I need to put this note on Zoe's pillow."

His eyes flashed with apprehension, and he took a step back from the fire in her eyes, back thumping against the wooden door. "If you give it to me, I'll relay the message once she and Queenie are back."

"Actually, I don't think it's within your realm of understanding." He sank a little bit at the sharp insult, and Cordelia regretted her words a bit. "This isn't a matter for a middle man. It's urgent that I tell them in my own words. Let me pass."

"I can't. I promised her I wouldn't let you in." Kyle reached out to put a hand on her shoulder and began to redirect her.

With a jerk of her chin, Kyle rushed all the way back against the bannister of the stairs. He struck hard and remained frozen there, pinned by her telekinetic strength. " _Don't_  put your hands on me," she accused. "And if you get in my way again, I'll fire you. I am the Supreme of this coven, and I expect that you'll treat me as such." His wide eyes roamed wildly, but she didn't release him until she had secured one hand on the doorknob. "You are my employee, not my student. Don't forget that."

A throaty, wounded noise rose from Kyle as she unlocked the door with her magic and pushed her way inside, but he didn't charge to stop her from proceeding; instead, he shuffled after her like a kicked dog as she soaked in the scene before her. For a frightening moment, she feared that Queenie and Zoe were dead—that he had spread their bodies out on the rug in this fashion out of recompense—but she noted that they were both breathing steadily. "What are they doing?" she exhaled to the butler.

He stared at the floor, voice meek and eyes cast downward. "They found a spell to go to hell and rescue Misty and Nan. Zoe said it made them impervious to the—the disintegrating stuff. She said not to tell you because you would freak out. Her words, not mine."

Cordelia's jaw set into a stiff mold. " _Freak out_  sounds appropriate," she clipped in return, both eyes fixed on the still bodies upon the rug. She swallowed hard to shake off the memories—a different body lying there, one that would not return, one that would erupt into a cloud of dust and ash. "I suppose I'll go after them, then."  _They found a way to Misty._  Her mental voice echoed with the irony of it. She never would have risked Zoe or Queenie in order to go on this revival escapade, yet they were still two steps ahead of her. "Leave."

"But—there's a whole other—"

"Leave!" she snarled, wheeling around at Kyle. Her hair lifted up in unrestrained telekinetic force. "While you still can." Eyes narrowed to slits, Kyle backed away slowly like a frightened dog abandoning a threat. After a moment of holding her fiery gaze, he jogged away. Cordelia slammed the door shut behind him with her mind; the impact caused the pictures to rattle on the wall.

Once the room had grown still again, Cordelia tiptoed beside her students. They had left the book spread open on the page where they had left off, and after a moment, she knelt down beside them to examine the words on the page—all nonsense about limbo and crossing thresholds. "To be executed with a partner," she muttered aloud. She had no one to take along with her. The only adult witch she knew was touring the country performing music—and who wanted to call Stevie Nicks to ask her to go to literal hell to save a couple teenagers? "Well, that's not going to work for me."

With a shove, she sent the book spinning across the floor and grabbed onto Zoe's face. "Show me. Where are you?" The scene shifted into a dark street, houses lined. "You're not in hell. You're not in pain." She rolled back to Queenie and took the black witch's shoulder. Queenie walked behind a tall, slender black woman, and as the face turned around, Cordelia's stomach dropped. "Of course you couldn't stay dead." She licked her lips. "My life is a shit storm," she breathed as she lay back onto the mat and stared at the ceiling. She had been the Supreme for all of a month, and yet she already saw how Fiona had fled from the accompanying pressures without hindrance.

_Maybe that's what I'll do_ , she speculated as she tilted her head back. The hardwood floor caused her back to ache dully. The ceiling spun around as her lips began to utter the Latin without thought for the future, for the danger entailed within the hell which she would soon enter. _I'll take Misty and we can run away together. Wherever she wants to go. As long as there's a shower._ Her vision hazed. _I hope that there's a shower._  Somehow, she doubted that Misty's choice in locations would come with a built-in shower.  _We can install one_. She lifted her heavy arms and crossed them over her chest like a vampire lying down in his coffin, waiting to sleep. _I'll bring her back_ , she promised herself. _I'll find her. Everything will be okay again._

It was the last soothing thing that she thought. The vortex spiraled into a narrow tunnel with a suction to it, a gravity. Cordelia's soul lifted from her body and tilted like she prepared to take the conveyor belt to the top of a roller coaster. As she rolled higher and higher, she could almost hear the sound of the gears clicking over one another, slowing as she drew nearer and nearer to the top. The world dropped out from under her.

The impact of striking hell always hurt, but Fiona's sharp backhand hurt more. She recoiled and hauled herself up on the furniture as the figment of her mother approached. "You're worthless!" snarled the witch. "You always have been! You bring shame to me! You bring shame to this coven!" The phantom knocked her again. She managed to stay on her feet. "You'll never be a witch worth knowing!"

Cordelia grasped a chair to hold herself upright. "Please—" Though she knew addressing the false figment of her mother was futile, she felt the need to explain herself, to apologize. "I need to leave. You've got to let me out."

Fiona backhanded her again. "Don't tell me what I've got to do, you foolish girl. You're here with me—forever."

Spitting blood, Cordelia turned away. "No! I'm here to find Misty—all my girls—I need to find them. Please—" Fiona's hand wrapped around her throat, so her slew of words choked off into a series of sharp pants. "Mother…" She could barely manage the croak. Black blots appeared and danced in her vision. The former Supreme dropped her hand and booted her once in the stomach, then again in the ribs. With another shove, Cordelia collapsed onto her side. She curled up into a ball to protect her head and folded her arms over her neck. I think I made a mistake.

Peeking up through the haze of pain, she caught two scarlet eyes peering down upon her. "I told you," he said, "You don't belong here."

…

The silent streets gave no comfort to Zoe as she followed Fiona along the gray scene. Neither of them had small talk to make with the other, and for all of the doors they had passed, she hadn't yet seen one marked with initials matching Misty or Nan. Hands crammed into her pockets, she shuffled after the former Supreme, only daring to steal side glances at the haunts on either side.  _How many people does he keep here?_  she asked herself. To Fiona, she asked, "Where are we going?"

"The academy. I've a sinking suspicion we'll find one of them there. If not them, then someone." Fiona glanced back at Zoe. "That place is hell on earth. I'm sure that you've deduced that by now."

"It hasn't been so bad since you died, actually," Zoe sniped in return. Fiona jabbed something in return, but she didn't hear it as she turned to face a house—a familiar house. "Wait a minute. I know this place." She jogged up the staircase to the front porch and pushed her way into the living room. Behind, the slow procession of Fiona's footsteps followed. "This is the frat house that Madison and I were at." She rounded the corner and headed up the next flight of stairs. "This is where they drugged her, and…"

At the end of the hall, a door stood, boldly emblazoned with the initials, _MM_. "Holy shit, she's dead," Zoe breathed at the sight. "She's dead. This is her hell." Fiona gave a noncommittal grunt, and Zoe swung around. "We've got to get her out of there. Not even Madison deserves that. We can bring her back with Misty and Nan—"

"Dear," Fiona reminded in a condescending voice, "we're not here to save your crack-addicted former roommate with an ego problem. She hardly is in there with a clean conscience or record. You'll recall her list of transgressions is longer than the Nile River." She arched one eyebrow at Zoe. "You'd be mad to release her. There's nothing she can do to aid us. She'll prolong it and complain. You know that."

Eyes longing, Zoe gazed at the door. "But we can't just leave her in there," she murmured, desperate. "She doesn't deserve that. She was a shit person, but she never killed anyone—except Misty, but she came back, so that doesn't count. And Kyle and his friends, but most of them deserved it."

"Do what you like," allowed Fiona with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But don't complain to me when you've freed her and she starts bitching again. That's all she's done for her whole life. Bitch, bitch, bitch." Her lips tilted at one corner. "She and I would have been great friends under different circumstances, actually."

The young witch had already stopped listening as she advanced on the black door. Ambivalence curled in her belly. She didn't like Madison; by now, she assumed that no one liked Madison. But she had seen what they did to Madison that night at the frat party, and she couldn't have left anyone in there to suffer that way. Not even Madison. Swallowing hard, Zoe pressed her hand to the warm doorknob and turned it.

A record roared as soon as the space cracked open. _Why don't you ask him if he's going to stay? Why don't you ask him if he's going away?_  As Zoe had anticipated, Madison sprawled out naked on the bed. A nude Kyle loomed over her with his hands around her throat. She choked and grunted. "Madison!" snapped Zoe.

At her sharp greeting, the phantom faded. Madison dragged the covers up over her chest. "What the hell?" wheezed the dead witch. "Are you still dead? The blind wonder couldn't bring you back to life? Good fucking riddance. Get the hell out!"

Zoe's lip curled. "Gladly, if you want to get strangled and raped for the rest of eternity."

"I don't need your help to get out." Madison smeared her nose on the backside of her arm. "What did you come here for, anyway? A big saint such as yourself, escaping your personal pit and come to rescue the rest of us—I don't want your help. I don't want nobody else. Not after your boy toy strangled me."

Crossing her arms, Zoe retorted, "I'm alive, no thanks to you. I came here with Queenie to find Misty and Nan. I was just unfortunate to stumble across you first." She drew back. "But if you're satisfied here, you can stay. I just thought I'd offer you a break from getting murdered over and over again."

She planted her hand on the doorknob, but before she had the chance to back out of the room, Madison held up a hand. "Wait! Wait. Will you get my clothes off of the floor, please?" Zoe inclined an eyebrow as she stepped forward and gathered the garments off of the ground by the foot of the bed and threw them at the dead witch. Madison hauled the covers up over her head. "Let me put them on—then I'll come with you. I'll help you find the swamp queen and the retard."

"Don't call her that."

"Sorry if I'm not sympathetic. I was listening to her stupid Fleetwood Mac music _in hell_."

Zoe rolled her eyes skyward; already, she regretted entering this room. Fiona was right. "I meant, don't call Nan a retard. Call Misty whatever the hell you want. You'll just have to face Cordelia about it later."

Hauling herself up out of the bed, Madison sneered. "Right. Cordelia has a thing for blondes who like plants. She might've found a date by now if she hadn't been married to a witch hunter, threatening our whole existence." She dusted off the front of her shirt. "Alright, whatever. I'm out of this sweaty room, anyway." She glared at Zoe as she passed and headed to the door. Zoe held it open for her to pass through. "Which way are we headed?"

Fiona posed with her hands on her hips, eyes critical and narrow upon Madison's white face. "We were headed toward the academy before someone got distracted by a familiar house." Her lip curled. "If it were up to me, you would rot in that room like you deserve. You're lucky that Zoe is more merciful than I am."

"Oh, please, you old hag. Like I've done anything close to what you've done. I didn't kill Nan. I didn't become Supreme and then abandon the coven for months on end, leaving my incompetent daughter to run the place. We've both got some blood on our heads. Don't act like you're all innocent in this, old lady."

With a flick of Fiona's hand, Madison's hair balled itself into great matted knots. "Don't talk to me that way again, and I may untie it before I dump you back in your hell. Self-entitled bitch." Zoe strode after the former Supreme before Madison could deliver another retort and slow them even more. "We've been out far longer than we should have been," Fiona delivered in a smooth voice. "It's only a matter of time before we're discovered by Papa Legba, and once that happens, god help us." Zoe shuddered. "We're going to find your little swamp brat and send you both back through the portal."

"I'm going, too," Madison snapped.

"You weren't invited," Zoe said. "Queenie and I are the living souls who passed through, and we'll decide who comes back with us. Right now, you're not at the top of that list by any means."

Snorting, Madison waved her off. "Please. You've always been a pushover, Zoe, and don't act like you aren't. You'd raise Satan himself if he asked nicely and smiled for you. I can play you like a fiddle without you even knowing that I've touched your strings." She grinned a poisonous expression, like she could bite out Zoe's throat with her next words. "You're a doll, Zoe, really."

Their footsteps tapped down the staircase, into the hallway, off the porch. "If you can't behave yourselves," Fiona muttered, "I'll separate you, and you don't want to see that." Zoe inclined her head sharply; she didn't dare slide a glance over at Madison to tell if the other agreed with Fiona's terms. "We're going to the school now. No more interruptions."

The gray stone streets faded one house into another so that it hardly felt that they moved forward at all in their long trek, but in long paces, the academy came into view. "Why are we going here, exactly?" Madison queried, sneer barely disguised upon her face. "Are we supposed to be finding someone in here? It doesn't look super hellish to me, personally."

"Says the one whose hell was having sex to a Fleetwood Mac record," muttered Zoe.

Fiona curled her lip. "You never know who could've ended up here. I'm going to hope that one of them hated this place as much as I did and wound up here." She climbed the stairs to the front porch. "I'll take the right wing—Zoe, left wing—Madison, yard and greenhouse. Meet back here as soon as every area is clear, and if you don't come, we will leave you behind."

With the wind propelling her, Zoe jogged up the stairs and veered to the left, uncertain what she was even looking for—a door marked with the initials _MD_ , she supposed. She had more bedrooms to cover than she liked to consider, and as Fiona had predicted, there were quite a few doors with labels upon them, quite a few witches suffering eternally in the academy. The place intended to serve as a haven had become hell for some. _But not_ , she thought,  _for Misty, apparently._  She wove around the corner and studied each set of initials; none of them held the two letters that she needed.  _Nothing will come as easily as I want it to,_  she griped internally.

The gray walls of the academy encroached upon her like an unfriendly spirit. In hell, nothing held light, not even the school that she now called home. Discomfort pricked within her, desolate and lonely, so she read the letters aloud to herself to keep herself company from the mind-tricks of Papa Legba's afterlife. "TD," she muttered. "MS—Myrtle? Shit." She forced herself to keep walking. She had no time to awaken more spirits, not while Fiona threatened to ditch her if she fell behind. "TS, KO, CF."

Zoe walked another step more before she froze. "CF," she repeated. Wheeling around, she faced the black door. "Cordelia." Was it a trick? A coincidence? She couldn't risk it. The coven needed Cordelia. If something had happened to Cordelia, they had to know now.

She pressed an ear to the door, but nothing sounded from within, so with a reluctant pressure curling in her lower gut, she turned the doorknob and pushed it open. "You will never amount to anything! You bring shame to me! You bring shame to this coven!" Fiona paced back and forth across the rug of Cordelia's bedroom. "I refuse to believe that I brought you into this world."

"I'm s-sorry!" whimpered Cordelia, curled up like a lump halfway under the bed, peering up with shining brown eyes.

Lips slightly parted, Zoe observed a moment longer before she took a tentative step into the room. "Fiona?" She had only just seen the witch; Fiona was supposed to be in the right wing looking for Misty or Nan.

The phantom whirled around to face her, and upon meeting Zoe's eyes, she dissipated from the feet upward, dust sucked into the invisible wind. "Right," breathed Zoe. "She wasn't real. Nothing here is real."  _Yet it is. It's all real._  Lips pressed downward, she slowly turned to face Cordelia. "Are you dead?" she asked, perhaps a little too bluntly. Her arms crossed with irritation.

The Supreme hauled herself upward and smeared her pink cheeks to disguise her tears. "No. I had to come after you." She narrowed her eyes. "Where's Queenie? You shouldn't have left her."

"There was a change of plans." Zoe licked her lips. "Did you come alone?"

"Yes. He knows I'm here."

"Then you have to leave. He hasn't found us yet. We're better off if we keep it that way." Zoe held Cordelia's gaze evenly, hoping that the other witch had a loophole, something to avoid discovery. Her presence blanketed the room in a certain, peculiar feeling of safety.

Cordelia pinched her lips together. "I can't go back. I can't leave you both here." Zoe opened her mouth to argue, but Cordelia held up her hand. "No. I know how to find Misty. We have to go now, and fast. We'll make it back to the portal before he catches up to us."

With a moment's consideration, Zoe knew that she could waste no more time debating this with Cordelia—not unless she wanted Fiona and Madison to leave her behind. She opened the door again and headed back into the dimly lit hallway, fraught with a melancholic air. "I need to check the rest of the doors in this wing."

"She isn't here. She's in a school—a public school. We need to go right now."

Zoe had no argument for that and started down the flight of stairs, taking two at a time as she supported herself with the bannister. Cordelia's footsteps echoed the empty halls behind her. "We have to wait here—Fiona and Madison are helping me."

Bewildered, Cordelia regarded her for a moment. "Madison's  _dead?_  And—"

"Well, I see you're raising pitiful hearts wherever you set foot, Zoe," Fiona purred as she started back down the stairs. "The right wing is empty. Madison isn't here like we bargained, so we'll leave without her. Move along."


	5. Chapter 5

"Where is Queenie?" They returned to the gray cobblestone streets like shadows, feet having no impact, words having no meaning, stale breeze whistling through them with an uncomfortable warmth. Cordelia's cold stare fixed onward at the sun-less, starless sky where it met the street on the horizon. She didn't dare take a sideways look at Fiona.  _Some people don't have the grace to stay dead_. She hooked her thumbs into her front pockets.

Zoe didn't take her eyes off of Cordelia. "We awoke Marie Laveau and Madame LaLaurie. She went with them the other way to try to find Nan."

"You shouldn't have separated yourselves."

Fiona cut in, smooth as a newly toned knife, "It was my idea." Her voice had a vicious ring to it, daring Cordelia to challenge, and the new Supreme didn't. "Split duties makes faster work," she reminded, tone as sweet as a southern belle's. Her lips twisted upward into a malevolent smile. "And now that you're with us, we've got a target on our backs, so better for them. Someone couldn't read a spellbook. You weren't supposed to come alone."

Lips curled, Cordelia refused to rise to Fiona's baited hook. She tucked one arm around herself and turned her face away to the passing homes. "I don't know what school…" Red X's marred the front of almost every home. "I don't know what school Misty would be in. It was just a school."

An exaggerated, frustrated sigh rose from Fiona, but before she could cut in with something scathing, Zoe rushed to defend Cordelia. "I don't think there will be more than one." Both pairs of eyes fell upon her. Unease prickled, a self-awareness that she disliked their regarding gazes. "This place looks like New Orleans, but it isn't," she explained. "Everything's closer together. There aren't as many houses. I think the things here are—they're just symbols, stand-ins, for the real world, not the literal interpretation. There's no way we would've been able to walk all of New Orleans in one go."

"This is the afterlife, child," Fiona purred. "You have no sense of time or exhaustion here."

Zoe shot a pleading look at Cordelia, but the Supreme ignored her, refusing to take up against her mother. She shrank back into her hoodie and continued in silence. The crunch of the rock and broken pavement under their feet grounded them, kept them from losing place in the mixed reality before them. They passed a church with a large dome roof and pointed crosses everywhere; the doors labeled with initials were so numerous that they could hardly draw near enough to the sign to read it. The teen trod onward with her head down after Fiona.

Cordelia, though, stopped. "No," she said once. The other two paused and turned back, dead-eyed, to regard the new Supreme. "Zoe's right. This church doesn't have a name."

"Some churches don't have names."

"I've never known a church called, 'Church,'" Cordelia replied in a griping voice. "Look at all the doors here. There's no way that so many people have their hell in a single church. It would have to have the world's worst pastor if that's the case." She drew her hand over the brick sign and pushed past the doors, some standing in the open air without frames. "High school is bound to have more suffering souls than a reported spiritual reprieve. It sucks for everyone, not just for the ones lacking spirituality."

Pursing her lips, Fiona snipped, "It still doesn't tell us where we'll find the school." Her brown eyes slid back to Cordelia with a narrowed scorn upon them. She refused to meet her mother's eye. "If we split in separate directions—"

"No!" Zoe protested adamantly. "We already lost Madison. It would be stupid for us to separate now. We'll only get ourselves lost, and we won't be able to find our ways back out. We need to stay together." She looked to Cordelia once, then back to Fiona. "You're not the Supreme anymore. We don't take orders from you. We're the ones who came here to find Misty, so we're going to do it our way." She crossed her arms and glowered like a sullen teenager frustrated at the turning of the world's gears.

Cordelia sighed.  _Why Fiona?_  Of all the dead people that Queenie and Zoe could have woken to aid in their recovery effort, why did they have to pick Fiona? Fiona had never helped anyone in her life, and she undoubtedly had some selfish plan involved in helping the girls now. "I agree with Zoe," she said. "We don't know where we're going. Better to be lost together than separately."

Fiona's impassive expression hardly hinted at her miffed opinion in her eyes. "Very well," she said. "Do you have any ideas on which direction we should head? We're unlikely to stumble across the school at random."

Drawing the shawl tighter around her shoulders, Cordelia wanted to take it off and clutch it and demand visions from it, but she knew that she could not pluck magic from anything in that respect. She had the shawl that she had worn and the picture in her pocket—the only artifacts of Misty that she had had on her person when she dove after Queenie and Zoe into hell. Still, she shuffled along with her eyes half-closed, hoping to provoke a vision into appearing. _Guide me._  A warmth that smelled like Misty's floral perfume wreathed around her and drew her along by the hand. "This way," Cordelia murmured, and she ducked into a skinny side street.

"You're possessed with stupidity," Fiona griped. "This is an alley. There's no way that it leads to a school."

Cordelia's fingers trembled as the warm shadow continued to guide her, a moth to a light, a magnet to its polar. She could find no words to explain to the others the strange spell that her longing had elicited, but she knew that she had to follow it. She wound her way through the alley with its foul reek of excrement, the rotting underbelly of the city which even the afterlife found integral to its existence. Zoe scampered after her with quick, scattered footsteps, and Fiona, having no choice but to follow or be left behind, stole a wary look over her shoulder before she pursued the other witches.

The alley spun into a perpendicular crossroads; the grasp upon her hand tugged her to the left so strongly that she stumbled. It rushed her feet to move beyond the leisurely pace they had chosen to conserve their energy. The brick buildings smeared into an indiscernible gray and red haze. She could hardly track her surroundings. A block blew by, and she snatched to the left. "We're going in circles!" puffed Fiona in protest, but her voice sounded miles away. "Delia! Where are you taking us?"

She shivered once with the power that trickled through her veins. It glowed from her. Her jog evolved into a sprint as she rounded another corner to the right, cut another one, and then ducked between two buildings built so near to one another that she had to turn sideways to manage the tight fit. At the base of a broad stone staircase, the hot tugging dropped so that she lurched and fell to her knees. She took the hand rail to pull herself back up; she bore a tear in the knee of her jeans. "Here." Her breathless voice hadn't yet recovered from the strain of sprinting the distance. "She's in here."

"I would say so," Zoe replied. She supported herself with one hand to keep the stitch from building in her side. With her other hand, she pointed at the black sign by the street. "It's called 'High School.'" Fiona had nothing to add on, gasping behind Zoe and leaning upon a guard rail. "Let's go. We don't have time to waste catching our breath, do we?"

"No." Cordelia relinquished the railing and limped up the stairs; a slow, single-file procession followed her through the glass doors. The hallways were lined like bookshelves in an overcrowded library, stretched into innumerable aisles. "Holy shit," she murmured at the sight of the rows of walls upon walls leading to doorways leading to hell for more souls than she could count. Clearing her throat, she glanced back at the other two witches. "Each of you start at one end, and I'll start in the middle?"

She phrased it like a question, but even Fiona was struck speechless by the tall order of doors before her. It took a moment of licking her lips before she gave a somewhat drunken nod and grunted, "I feel like a damn Jehovah's Witness." She broke off and headed for the left; Zoe veered right.

Cordelia lingered for a moment where she stood. One hand forked into the pocket of her jeans. Between her two fingers, she pinched the picture, and she tugged it out and examined it. The way the sunlight filtered through Misty's golden hair, the glee upon her face as she kissed her dog on the nose, the bright green grass of summer… Her heart poured into the image, and this time with a much gentler, guiding touch, the warm magic and the floral scent wreathed around her and propelled her like the first zephyr of spring. Her legs knew where to go, her feet beneath her, hand clutching the picture and eyes scarcely moving from it.

Turning with the tug of the magic, Cordelia paced down several hallways and swept into a narrow one. The lights were dull, like some of the bulbs had blown and no one had bothered to update them. Her clipped steps reverberated on the empty air. "I'm right here, Misty, I'm right here. Just show me."

The golden initials  _MD_  blazed from a door about halfway down the hallway, and Cordelia approached with a stiffness forming on top of her tongue. She studied the front of the door and hugged herself as she stared at it. In the harsh light, standing there only a wall away from Misty, hesitation strummed her heartstrings. _What if she's angry?_  she considered in a tiny, fearful voice.  _What if she hates me that I left her so long? That I failed so long to come and find her?_  Her arms crossed in front of her body in a self-hug for comfort while she grappled for her courage.  _What if she doesn't feel the same way I do?_

It was that petty thought that drew Cordelia upright. She stuffed the picture back into the tight pocket of her jeans and rested one hand on the doorknob.  _No matter how she feels, she deserves to be free._  Misty owed her nothing, and she owed Misty the world. Misty had single-handedly saved their coven by reviving so many vital souls until the witches could go on without them. Reviving her and asking nothing more was the least that Cordelia could do. If Misty granted her more than that, she would not deserve it.

As soon as she cracked the door open, the voices rumbled forth in a mix of trauma. "If you won't dissect a dead frog, you'll dissect a live one!" She followed the storming teacher as he dragged Misty up from behind the desk where she had collapsed. He shoved the scalpel into her hand.

The sight of her made Cordelia's heart drop into the pit of her stomach. Large red blotches covered the blonde witch's face; her thick hair hung in stringy, sweaty mats. Drool and snot trickled down from her mouth and nose, and she snorted through a thicker weeping fit as the man brought her hand down on the underbelly of the frog once again. She whimpered, unable to form a coherent protest any longer. The frog croaked in an undeserved agony as she slit it open from throat to abdomen, blood and entrails spilling out with the clumsy cut.

The man relinquished her, and she collapsed onto the floor once again, weak and pathetic. A round sob rose out of her chest, almost a wail. The sound wrenched Cordelia's every synapse. "Misty," she whispered. As she stepped through the stale air, the visions disappeared into dust, into nothing, just like Misty's body had slipped through her arms weeks ago. Her heart ached. The witch curled up behind a desk to hide herself from view. She stuffed the knuckles of one fist into her mouth to stifle the hysterical bawls.

Once all of the horrors vanished, Cordelia knelt down beside Misty. "Misty, it's okay. I'm going to take you out of here." She rested one hand gingerly upon the blonde's shoulder.

Misty recoiled and shouted, " _No!_ " She snatched her hands and arms over the back of her head and rocked herself back and forth like a distressed child. Her blotchy face, parts bleach white and parts deep red, disappeared behind her curtain of matted hair. "Don't touch me!" She coughed once, throat worn hoarse from the eternity that she had spent here. In her bleak eyes, Cordelia saw no hint of the kind young woman she had known in life. As Misty rocked herself, she mumbled a string of, "Not real not real not real not real." She wiped off her snot on the back of her hand and refused to face Cordelia. "Not real not real." Her every breath quivered, and tucked tighter into herself, knees drawn up to her chest.

The Supreme closed her eyes and released a slow breath to steady herself. "Misty," she pled in a desperate tone. "I am real." She opened her eyes to study the frightened witch once more. Disbelieving blue eyes wandered from their position on the floor to peer through the shroud of hair; they glittered like cold stones recently unearthed. "Let me show you." Cordelia extended one hand to her in an offering. "Please, Misty, let me show you so that we can leave here."

A flicker of mistrust startled across Misty's face, and she shrank a little at the imposition upon her personal space, but at Cordelia's proffered hand, her throat bobbed in a hard gulp, and she placed her frigid fingertips right in the Supreme's warm palm. Cordelia clasped her hand and rubbed a circle on its back with her thumb. Then she summoned a memory to the front of her mind, pushed it forward toward Misty. Misty maintained eye contact so that the apparition shivered before her.

_In the greenhouse, Misty stirred a paste, looming over the vase to watch it change colors when her magic interacted with the potent herbs. A satisfied grin crept upon her face. She shook off her stick. "Very good," Cordelia praised._

_The blonde jumped in surprise and whirled around. "Miss Cordelia!" The brief shocked expression dissipated into a bright, delighted smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better. Miss Myrtle said it would be awhile yet."_

_"Myrtle would prefer to coddle me to the end of my days." Mismatched eyes studied the witch before her. Cordelia had seen all of her other wards before her accident, but Misty had arrived after the acid attack. She knew some things but not all of them—she knew that Misty had thick hair but not what color; she knew that she had a sweetly accented voice but not the color of her lips._ She's beautiful. _The impression of it refused to leave, the sheer beauty that she had missed. It felt like meeting a new person; there was a disconnect in Cordelia's mind between the one who had mended her broken body when she had fallen down the stairs and the pretty thing in front of her. "Why aren't you at dinner with the others?"_

_"Oh, it—it's not really my thing. Madison's too nasty for my tastes. Doesn't like my music." She scraped out the paste into the soil of a dying belladonna plant. "If I'd known she was such a bitch when Zoe asked me to fix her, I wouldn't have done it so quick. She's out to make life hell for everyone, ain't she?"_

_Chuckling, Cordelia replied, "Yes, she has been for a long time." The brown-leafed plant straightened as Misty smoothed the paste down over the dirt. The blonde touched the stems, and leaf by leaf, it revived and greened again. "You're very talented," she observed._

_A pink flush rose to Misty's cheeks. "Oh—nah, I can't do much else. But thank you." She wiped off her dirty fingers on the front of her shirt. "Them eyes are wicked cool. Were they always like that?"_

_"No. Myrtle has an artistic touch." A dry tone touched Cordelia's voice as she recalled Fiona's first scathing words upon seeing her new eyes. Nothing would ever please her mother, but she always found herself astonished by Fiona's new lows of despicable words._

_"Well, I like them." Misty offered an apologetic grin. "I'm sorry for playin' around in your stuff. Madison told me to get lost, but I can get out of the way if you need the space."_

_Eyes widening, Cordelia rushed to reassure her. "No, no. Please, stay. I appreciate the company." She advanced into the aisle and brushed by some of the plants. Her ability to care for them had vanished with her sight, but they all flourished. "Have you been taking care of them long?" she ventured. The pungent mingling aromas held a familiar sense of safety that nothing in the house could replicate, and ordinarily, she preferred to spend her time here alone, but Misty didn't have the loud presence of a normal person. She just existed in the simplest of ways; her very being agreed with nature, leaving no lasting imprint upon the world around her._

_A sheepish look touched Misty's lips in a low quirk. "Yeah," she admitted. "Zoe told me they were dying. I started fixing them up as soon as I got here. Hope you don't mind. I couldn't stand the thought of them suffering."_

_"I'm glad that they had someone to care for them," Cordelia reassured. She stood right beside the other witch with the intentions of studying the belladonna that she had just resurrected, but her new eyes refused to leave Misty's face. "Thank you for everything you've done for our coven. You are more valuable to this group than you could possibly know."_

_"Aw, shucks." The pink tinge to her cheeks darkened. "I'm glad you think that, but, really, I'm nothing special."_

_Cordelia could have insisted otherwise, could have argued her point, and she wanted to do it badly, but she pinched her tongue to the roof of her mouth._ You are a wonder _, her mind rambled,_  and I'll prove it to you. _"Well," she said instead, shifting into a change of subject, "what do you know about practical healing? I have a few books, if you'd like to help me. I've been working on some new potions."_

_Misty's mirthful eyes lit up. "Cool!"_

The memory faded to the gray shade across from her, a pale fragment remaining of Misty's bright outlook and glowing eyes with which she had once regarded the world. A weak glimmer passed across her tear-streaked face. Scooting nearer with a slow procession, her lips quaked, and her hands pulsed so forcefully that she almost faltered as she dragged herself closer to the Supreme. "Delia?" she breathed, still disbelieving.

Her name on Misty's lips, the pet name granted by those closest to her, caused a smile to break across Cordelia's face, and only when the expression touched her lips did she realize that twin streams of tears trickled down both of her cheeks. "It's okay. I came to find you," she soothed as Misty crawled nearer. "Everything is going to be okay now." The gap between her arms widened in anticipation for a hug, and Misty filled the hole.

She sniffled once, eyes pinched closed, as she wrapped her arms tightly around Cordelia's middle. Small and bundled, Cordelia drew Misty into her lap, and the younger witch rested her head against the Supreme's collarbones. Her eyes drifted low, almost closed, but she couldn't take them off of her rescuer; she didn't dare risk Cordelia disappearing once again. "What took you so long?" The vulnerable whimper rose up from her before she could clamp down her lips.

Cordelia brushed her hair back out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ears. "I didn't know how to get here. I was looking for you, I swear—I never would have stopped." The tears slipped faster from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Misty, I never should have made you come here. You knew that you didn't belong here. I was so—so blind—" Her voice thickened so that she could no longer speak, and she lowered her head in shame.

Tender fingertips brushed her cheeks to remove her tears from her skin. "It was you all along," Misty whispered, voice broken. "Wasn't it? It was always you." Cordelia managed a stiff nod, staring hard at the floor. Misty clutched her hand. Her whole body tremored uncontrollably, exhausted muscles convulsing with the impact encounter, and Cordelia couldn't steady her with her tight grasp. The blonde witch rested her face in the hollow between Cordelia's neck and shoulder. Her eyelashes caress the bare skin there. "You got purty eyes." She puckered her lips slightly to graze Cordelia's neck in a light kiss. Goosebumps erupted in her wake.

Cordelia bent her head in return and pressed a protective kiss to the crown of Misty's head. She could think of no words to express the tumult and relief within her, all mingled and confused. She had found Misty—but they still had to navigate their way back out of hell. They still had a world left to traverse. "I'm so sorry," she began.

"I ain't mad. I'm just—real tired." Misty shivered. "It's cold here all the time. I think that's part of being dead. Being cold." With a weak pulse, she squeezed Cordelia's hand. She couldn't calm the trembles in her nerves; goosebumps erupted over her exposed flesh. Her pale lips puckered, having deep, chapped creases. "I missed you." Cordelia rubbed a circle on the back of Misty's hand. "I thought you'd left me forever."

"Never," Cordelia promised. She began to disentangle herself in order to shed the shawl, but Misty sucked in a breath and seized Cordelia's wrist, eyes fluttering wide with fear. "It's alright, it's alright," the Supreme soothed. "I'm not leaving you, I promise." A tiny smile quirked onto her lips. "I wouldn't have come this far to decide that you weren't worth the trip." She slipped the shawl off of her head. "Here. This is yours."

Lowering her head into her palms, Misty puffed a sigh. "I'm a wreck." She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I can't stop shaking." Cordelia tucked the shawl over her head and pulled out Misty's tangled hair from under it. She leaned against the older witch's chest. "Are we going home now?"

Cordelia inhaled deeply in Misty's hair. She smelled of sweat and fear and tears; the earthy perfume that once clung to her had vanished, and she could only guess how long it would take for those warm scents to be restored. "Yes, let's go home." She didn't want to get up. She could have sat there holding Misty for eternity. But there was no peace to be found here, and they had miles to traverse, friends to find, portals to trace. "Get up. My legs are going to fall asleep."

The blonde snorted a halfhearted chuckle as she hauled herself up onto rubbery legs. She offered a hand to the Supreme and pulled her back to her feet. Her lips wavered in a teary expression. "Can I hug you again?"

The vulnerable wobble in her voice drove Cordelia to tug her in for another embrace. "You don't need to ask," she said. She rested her chin upon Misty's shoulder and held there for a long moment, massaging a circle into the other's back. With her eyes closed, she became acutely aware of the curve of Misty's body against hers, the coolness of it. A few more tears appeared on the young witch's cheeks, and Cordelia dashed them away with one thumb. "I—" She cut herself off, pressed her teeth into her tongue.  _I love you_. She didn't dare say it, not now, not when so much hung above Misty's head like a dark cloud. Eyes fixed on the trembling line of Misty's mouth, she could picture a kiss between them as clearly as one of her visions.

_Cordelia swiped her tongue over her dry lips to moisten them and leaned forward slowly, hands framing either side of Misty's face. Eyelids hanging low, the air warmed as their lips touched in a chaste contact, brief. Misty broke away first, and fear burbled in Cordelia's gut. Had she gone too far? Had she ruined her only chance? But Misty bumped their foreheads together, tips of their noses touching in a sweet Eskimo kiss, and she giggled a lilting chime. "I thought that you'd never get around to actually kissing me."_

"Delia?" Misty's probing voice interrupted her fantasy. "Are you alright?" She had broken the hug but stood so close that Cordelia could smell her breath, could feel its waft across her sticky cheeks, and they clutched at one another's hands like clingy children.

"I'm fine," she soothed. "Come." She kept Misty's hand enveloped in her own. "The others are going to be wondering where I got to." She led her to the door through which she had entered, a hopeful touch upon her face.

"You brought others?"

"They brought me," Cordelia admitted. She squeezed the hand a little tighter. Pleasure coursed through her at the prospect of leading someone rather than being led, blind and poking around with a cane. "They had hoped to escape my notice, but Kyle is a miserable liar."

"Walking tornado," Misty muttered. The door swung open to accommodate them, and they turned left into the narrow, dimly lit hallway. The walls and carpet holding the same muted gray tone, she blinked several times to allow her eyes to adjust. "Where are we?" she whispered.

The Supreme paused where she stood, and it occurred to her far too late that she hadn't a clue where she had begun. She had followed the guiding magic to find Misty, and she doubted that it would now lead her back out. "We're in a school," she said, forcing herself to hold her voice steady; Misty had gone through far too much to fear stumbling around in hell for all of eternity. "Fiona and Zoe were here also. They wouldn't have gone far." She turned to the left. _It's a fifty percent chance_ , she reasoned desperately.

"How did you find me?" The gray carpet muffled the sounds of their footsteps. The silence rang out with an uncomfortable, muffled stillness. The air tasted stale and dry. Misty's thin fingers tightened around Cordelia's as her blue eyes regarded their surroundings. Like a treadmill, the hallway seemed to lengthen with every step that they took, stepping in place.

Cordelia glanced back at her when the increased pressure pulsed around her fingers. "The magic led me," she said, returning her attention to the narrow expanse before them. "Your sister gave me a picture of you. When I touched it, it brought me to you." Each doorway identical to the next, the corner happened upon them the way a vulture happens across its next meal. In either direction, their potential turns stretched. "We entered through a glass atrium. I must have turned the wrong way."

Veiled panic throbbed into the bottom of Cordelia's throat. Lost? How did that happen? Why hadn't she paid attention to the turns she had taken to get here? Which way had Fiona and Zoe gone? Had they already left? How much time had passed? Had they waited so long that they gave up on Cordelia ever returning, with or without Misty?  _Zoe wouldn't do that_ , she attempted to rationalize.  _But she would do almost anything under Fiona's influence. Anyone would._

"It's alright. We can find our way out." She turned to regard Misty for a moment, shock creeping into her expression, but the curly-haired blonde offered a sheepish smile. "I lived in the swamp for months. Lots of time to get lost. Lots of time to get found." She tugged gently upon Cordelia's hand. "I'm with you. I'm not afraid as long as we're together."

 _I'm with you._  The words reverberated in Cordelia's mind after their tone had faded, engraved upon the inside of her skull. "Right," she agreed. She followed the pressure upon her arm. "Together."

They walked down to the next hallway and turned right, made a left, counted their steps, counted the doors. A swell of anxiety pressed against the inside of Cordelia's chest, but Misty didn't appear to lose herself in the twists and turns. She occasionally gave Cordelia an apprehensive look, never voicing the tension in the dusty building, the holding ground for so many souls. The narrow passages darkened no matter which way they turned. "It's like we're heading in deeper regardless," Misty muttered.

"It's meant to fool us," Cordelia reminded her, but the reminder didn't serve as a reassurance; it only made her feel more like a fool who couldn't puzzle her way out of a complicated corn maze. "Let's keep going."

Lips pressed into a thin line, Misty nodded an agreement. "A right here?" she suggested to a tunnel-like passage with no lights; it darkened to complete blackness so that neither of them could see to the other side. "It looks scary—it's supposed to look uninviting—" Uncertainty tinged her every word, and she waited for the Supreme to support or deny her theory.

Cordelia swallowed the lump that had begun to bud in her throat.  _We never should have split up,_  she cursed herself.  _We might never find them._  And while she had few qualms against leaving Fiona to wander around in a school for her eternal days, she couldn't leave Zoe behind. "It's worth a shot," she confirmed.

Too compressed for them both to fit at the same time, Cordelia took the first step into the blackness. Misty kept her hand tight in her grasp. Her breath touched the back of Cordelia's neck, causing goosebumps to erupt, and she was glad for the lack of light so that Misty could not see their appearance. She kept one hand extended; when it touched a wall, she adjusted her path.

Misty's voice startled her enough to flinch. "You met my sister."

"Yeah," she confirmed in a breath. Her eyebrows quirked. _What is she on?_  But once the silence resumed, the tension in her gut expanded again, so she rushed to continue the conversation. "I—I went to your family's house. I thought they could help me find you."

"My family didn't  _want_  to find me."

"Jeremy and Mary did," Cordelia replied. "They've set up a board in your room. They haven't stopped looking yet." The speech lightened the atmosphere so that she felt less like a blind woman grappling around for nonexistent cat in a dark room. "I—I didn't tell them what happened to you."

"They wouldn't have understood."

"Your grandmother did, though."

The smile in Misty's voice was evident. "You met my gran?" she pressed. "I was so worried about her—that she wouldn't keep her mouth shut, I mean. She was never very good about that."

The tunnel widened into an expanse of gray light, and they emerged into the glass atrium. "Well, look," scoffed Madison. They both whirled to face her. "Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Real nice leaving me in the backyard. Do you know how many rooms were back there? Every zombie that we killed last Halloween—literally, every zombie. There were five of them with the initials  _MD_. Where the hell are Zoe and Fiona?" A scowl etched its way onto her face.

Misty narrowed her eyes in disbelief. " _You_  came here?"

Madison snorted. "Came? Hardly. Zoe's boy toy broke my neck just like your records. I'm here because I'm dead, not because I give a shit about you."

"I'm touched." Misty's hands balled into fists. Cordelia placed a hand on the inside of one arm in an attempt to quiet her growing rage. "Reminds me. I never got to finish beating the shit out of you when you tried to kill me."

"Tried? I succeeded," Madison scoffed. She crossed her arms. "Face it, blondie, you'd rather spend your days snorting coke out of Stevie Nicks's ass crack than actually growing some brains—"

The curly-haired witch swung with a clenched fist, striking home on Madison's jaw. The other collapsed in a skewed pattern. Cordelia winced, but she knew better than to draw Misty away now when the cajun woman had started her tirade. She kicked Madison in the ribs with a front jab of her shin. "If I'd known you were such a bitch when Zoe brought you to me, I would've buried your maggot-filled corpse out there in the swamp." As Madison scrambled, Misty grabbed her by her hair and threw her back on the ground.

"What in the hell is going on here?" Fiona purred as she strutted back out of the hallway. "I see you found our resident celebrity once again—and our swampy princess. Excellent job, Cordelia." Sarcasm leaked off of each uttered word, so insincere that Cordelia could have cringed at the sound. She arched an eyebrow. "I suppose we can go, then. Zoe will find her own way—"

"No," Cordelia interrupted. "We wait for her. I'm not leaving anyone else behind."

Madison spat blood and shoved Misty back. "Get off of me. You smell like shit that's been baking in an oven." She hauled herself back up to her feet, but the blonde fell back beside Cordelia, flexing her hand. Bruises had already begun to discolor the knuckles where she had cracked them against the other's head.

"Very well." Fiona's lips formed a miffed line. "We'll wait. Perhaps forever. Or perhaps Papa Legba will find us and dole out a punishment before Zoe ever decides to grace us with her presence once more."

However, rapid footsteps, though quiet, started from farther down the hallway as Zoe rounded the corner in a flat sprint. Her hair frizzed out behind her, eyes wild and skin reddened. "Zoe?" Cordelia whispered, but before she could call out to the fleeing teen, the witch screamed to them.

"Run!" Her ragged voice gasped for speech as soon as she caught sight of the other witches. "Run!" She could manage no more than that single syllable. Not ten feet behind her, three Minotaurs charged with their bullheads lowered, horns pointing outward, red eyes locked upon the witches just beyond.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank all of my readers. This story has been a journey. I just finished writing chapter nine and expect to add one more chapter; if necessary, I may add an epilogue, but I feel right now that I've gotten it to a good place. I'm proud of my work with this one. With that said, it's time to plunge forward!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!

 

The stampede of hooves and feet left the collection of witches frozen in place for a brief moment, a herd of deer waiting for impact. "Run!" Zoe's ragged voice rang out once more. Madison moved first, a whirl away; she grabbed Fiona by the sleeve of her blouse and bolted toward the door, and the former Supreme twisted with surprise at the action upon her person. She wrenched out of Madison's grasp and reached for Cordelia's wrist. Madison, shaking her head, ripped away from the group and abandoned them in the atrium.

Zoe stumbled and sprawled out on her belly. She slid a few feet, a baseball player straining for home base. " _No!_ " Misty split from beneath Cordelia's warm touch and ran toward the fallen witch. "Zoe!" She dove to save her friend as the lead Minotaur encroached upon them with horns facing downward.

"Don't be stupid!" Fiona transmuted on the spot and landed upon the bull man's shoulders. She grabbed one horn and dragged it to the right; it collided with another of its herd and tossed her to the floor. One ducked toward the soft of her abdomen. A jet of flames erupted from the palms of her hands, and the stench of singed flesh permeated the hallway. "A little help?" scoffed the blonde as she shot back up to her feet.

With one of Cordelia's extended hands, she repelled another bull from goring Misty and Zoe. "Thanks," stammered Zoe as Misty hauled her upward. She staggered, but catching her balance, she scowled at the attacker. "We can take him." The Supreme gauged them once before she released the bull and went to aid her mother.

Magic fired from Cordelia and Fiona in synchronization as they teamed against the first Minotaur; each of them employed flames, pouring from their hands and appearing wherever their eyes grazed, so that the mingling magic flowed out of them like a waterfall. Both Supreme witches moved with the magic of their prime, strength flowing through their veins and power gleaming in their greedy eyes, harmonizing steps like practiced dancers. As the older witches advanced upon their opponent, Misty and Zoe suspended their Minotaur with telekinesis; it dangled upside down from the ceiling, horns swinging around and feet stamping on the tiles. The two pairs worked back to back.

The third Minotaur righted itself and charged at the two younger witches. "Watch out!" shrieked Zoe as she dove to the right; Misty shrank to the wall, but the last member of the small herd had laid its eyes upon Cordelia's back, and with the other coven members fleeing, it had a straight shot at her. It roared as it grabbed her from behind with one beefy hand. Tossed effortlessly into the air, Cordelia's stream of magic fire died out. She sailed like a boneless gymnast through the air, but no one waited below to catch her, and her body thumped unevenly upon the floor.

The beast that, moments ago, Misty and Zoe had pinned to the ceiling now fell to the ground. Fiona, caught off-guard by the return of the third animal, whirled around to aid Cordelia, but her own attacker drew nearer; when her back collided against the wall, her lip curled. "Cordelia!" Misty shouted. "Zoe, help me!" With an extended hand, she gestured to the beast that they had just dropped.

With a strain of combined magic, it lifted into the air again, this time with more urgency. The last Minotaur seized Cordelia around the waist and lifted her again. A gray smoke streamed from its nostrils; the low grunts drove the disoriented witch to wring her head around and flail, but she was powerless against the demon's strength. Misty and Zoe jerked their hands in unison to send their victim toppling on top of the other bull so that the three—the horned demons and the witch—landed in a pile upon the floor. None of the protruding limbs twitched.

Misty dove at the heap while Zoe turned away to aid Fiona with the last Minotaur. "Cordelia!" She rolled one of the beasts off her to pull the Supreme free, looping her arms underneath Cordelia's and tugging until she had escaped the crushing weight. A thin trickle of blood ran down the older witch's temple and nose. "Delia—talk to me."

Wincing, the witch lifted her head slowly. "I'm alright," she muttered, putting one hand to her head. "I'm alright," she repeated in a low grumble, voice thick and confused. She held her eyes low so that she didn't focus on too much at once, one hand holding onto Misty's wrist. Dizziness swelled in circles around her head, and too vividly, she recalled the same sensation that had followed when she'd fallen down the stairs. Misty had been with her then. Misty was here now. "Help me up. Gotta get outta here." As her fingers brushed Misty's bare skin, she tasted the panic upon the other witch's tongue, the concern. _For me._

"I gotcha." Misty took both of her hands and pulled her to her feet. Cordelia swayed, but she managed to keep herself upright with Misty's aid. Behind them, someone cracked the neck of the last Minotaur—which witch, who could know—and it, too, dropped on top of its companions.

Fiona whirled upon them. "Where did Madison go?" she demanded. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Cordelia's and Misty's clasped hands, but while Cordelia steeled herself for the repercussions and prepared to maintain her position, Misty loosened her grasp and severed their touch.

"She ran. Stupid coward."

Zoe blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. "I don't blame her." She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at the other witches. "Can we leave now? Seriously? Find Queenie and get back to the portal before any more of those—those—"

"Minotaurs," Fiona provided.

"Yeah, whatever. Before they come back." Her lips plucked down at the corners. "I didn't sign on to battle demons when I came here."

Eyes rolling skyward, Fiona pushed off from the wall where she had leaned. "Girl, you signed on for a lot more than that." She had a slight limp to her step, and her clothing had soot stains and singed edges. "We'll be lucky to escape with our souls, the lot of us. You were both fools to make this outrageous plan, let alone execute it." A sneer touched her lips, and she regarded Cordelia once again, chin tilted upward with the same condescending gaze that had chased her into timidity so many times in her youth. "And all for true love, is that right?"

Cordelia set her jaw and stared back with a hard look upon her face. Tension crackled in the stale air for a moment as Misty shuffled nearer to her Supreme; the back of her hand brushed the back of Cordelia's, and the living witch could feel soft blue eyes upon her face, supportive but questioning at the same time. Zoe cleared her throat. "As I was saying. Leaving here? Effective immediately?"

"Yes," Cordelia answered in a flat tone. "Leaving." She blinked once to her mother before she stepped around Fiona and headed for the glass doors. The dizzy stagger, almost drunken, hadn't left her step, and Misty flanked her closely to steady her in case she stumbled. When their hands touched in the empty space, Cordelia caught flickers of worry, but she kept her stare straight ahead, not daring to stop and soothe the Cajun witch. Zoe filed out after them, and after casting a final glance at the fallen beasts, Fiona followed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Madison waited outside at the sign. "It's about time!" she sneered with a curled lip. "I thought those things had killed all of you! I was waiting for them to come after me! What happened to running?"

Lip curling, hate burbled visibly upon Misty's face, but she didn't make eye contact with Madison. "There was a change of plans," Cordelia answered in a clipped tone. "Which direction did Queenie head with Marie Laveau and Delphine?"

"They went opposite us. We headed into the suburbs, and they went toward the factories and outlets." Zoe didn't allow herself a moment to glance at Madison. "But I can only guess where they might have decided to look for Nan. She could be anywhere, really."

"We could start with your guess," Fiona supplied readily in a dark tone.

The corner of Zoe's mouth twisted downward. "The hospital, where Luke died, or in one of the houses where she killed Joan, or somewhere in the school."

"We already covered the school," Madison retorted.

"We were looking for Misty, not for Nan. We might have overlooked something," Zoe reasoned, lifting her eyes to the older witches for feedback. "But even if we find Nan's hell, it's possible that Queenie already freed her. We were going to leave as soon as we found our person. That was the deal."

"I am not leaving without Queenie," Cordelia retorted. Her face shifted into a dark expression. "This isn't a trip to the grocery store. We can't come back later when we realize we've forgotten something or someone." She studied the other witches. "The guardians here already know of our presence. We can't afford to prolong this visit. We find Queenie and we leave. With or without Nan."

Fiona snorted. "You would say that. You've already found your witch."

"Perhaps you'd like to volunteer to look for her, then, seeing as you're the reason that she's dead." Fiona had no intelligent reply to that quip, and she crossed her arms and waited for someone else to speak up. Cordelia opened her mouth to continue, but a low rumbling sounded from somewhere distant. Her jaw hung parted for a moment as the roar grew steadily louder.

Misty turned slowly back to the school building from which they had emerged moments earlier. "Y'all hear that, too, right?" she whispered, and everyone responded with a mute nod, eyes fixed upon the brick walls and the glass doors, which vibrated with the low bass sound. "Sounds like a—a stampede."

The realization dawned over their bleach-white faces in unison, and this time, every witch turned to flee without hindrance or inhibition. In a frenzy, Cordelia grappled for Misty's hand once again, and the curly-haired witch clutched at her fingers with reckless abandon. The thunder of hoofbeats roared all the more loudly so that the streets quivered under their feet. No one dared look back when the horns of the herd of Minotaurs penetrated the glass front of the school and sent the leaders spilling down onto the cobblestone.

"Stay together!" Cordelia shrieked to the wind just as Fiona ordered, "Split up!" Both instructions were lost into the emptiness of the atmosphere, and no witch had the space of mind to deviate from the paths of the others.

A scream startled Misty into a stop, and Cordelia refused to relinquish her hand, skidding alongside her. Madison had fallen and scrabbled on the stone street to pull her way back up; a large gash in her pants revealed a badly mangled knee. The swamp witch made to break away, to run toward her, but yards already separated them as the herd drew closer. " _No!_ " Cordelia seized Misty by the elbow, other arm twining around her waist. "Don't!" She shook her head and held on.

Madison screamed again when the first hoof landed upon the small of her back, flattening her to the street. "Madison!" Misty snatched against Cordelia's grasp once, twice, with fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "I can save her—I can—"

"You can't." As the next beast passed over, Madison's skull cracked open, spilling like a broken watermelon onto the street. Her spirit began to disintegrate into ash, rising up into the air and eventually disappearing so that not even a bloodstain remained of her. The herd had already forgotten that target and fixed upon the next ones—the still witches just ahead. Fiona and Zoe had vanished far down the street.

_We're dead._  The realization sunk onto Cordelia hard and fast as she clutched Misty a little tighter, eyes widening, face ducking down into the blonde locks. Misty turned in her arms and squeezed her around the middle, and for a brief moment, the Supreme wondered what could have been if only they hadn't stopped running, if they had kept pace with Fiona and Zoe, if Misty's big heart would have allowed her to continue while she knew that someone else was in pain. They would emerge from the netherworld with Zoe and Queenie and Nan, and they would embrace and kiss and share their lives as lovers, perhaps as wives if Misty wanted that.

Cordelia braced herself for an impact that did not come. For a brief moment, her body sucked inward like drawing in through a straw, and then she struck the ground hard. "Shit," she grunted as she rolled over. "Misty—what the hell—"

Misty lay beside her with her face screwed up in pain. The ground still shook, and Cordelia sat bolt upright, but she could not see the stampeding herd. She touched Misty's face. "Get up. Get…" She shook her head mid-sentence and stroked the blonde's cheeks with her index finger. The grit from her hand left a streak in its wake. "Misty, are you alright?"

"'M okay," answered Misty in a thick mumble. She shifted her weight onto one elbow and squinted through narrow eyes. "I never done that before. Don't think I want to again."

"You transmuted us," acknowledged Cordelia in a low voice. "It's  _not_  meant to be done with more than one person. You could've split one of us in half—or worse."

The curly-haired blonde shook her head with a weak, sad chuckle. "Yeah. Worse than gettin' mushed into the pavement and having your spirit dissolve." She mopped one hand over her forehead. "Know better next time." The tears still laid fresh on her cheeks, slithering paths like raindrops racing down the window of a car.

Cordelia smiled, a wan thing, and she touched Misty's hand gingerly. "Thank you," she whispered. She gazed at the side of her face. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let you do that."

"I was stupid to try." Two more droplets emerged and followed the stream, joined the riverbed. "She didn't deserve that. She deserved to have her teeth knocked out, and I would've been first in line to punch her again, but she didn't deserve that." She dashed away her tears with her fists as though embarrassed by their continued appearance, but each time they vanished into her knuckles, more emerged.

The Supreme sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. "You're not stupid," she murmured in return. "You've got a big heart. There's a difference."

Misty leaned against her and sniffled some more. "Delia," she whimpered, and Cordelia put an arm around her. "I'm tired." The words sounded more like a plea than a statement, imploring for rest, for closure. "Everything aches…"

She touched the back of her hand to Misty's forehead, which beaded with warm sweat like a fever. But Misty couldn't possibly have a fever; she was dead, after all, and physical ailments required a physical being. "You exhausted your magic," she explained in a soft tone. She tucked her blonde hair behind one ear. "Stay here and catch your breath. I'm going to try to figure out where we are."

Cordelia made to back away, but Misty caught her by the wrist. "N-No!" Her eyes glittered fearfully. "Please don't leave." Her lips trembled, but her grip slackened as she couldn't hold it steady. She retreated into herself and lowered her eyes to the ground. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

Pursing her lips, Cordelia settled again. Urgency prickled within her, but she knew better than to reject the witch now in her most vulnerable state. "You'll never be alone again," Cordelia promised her. She touched Misty's hand, and the other witch slipped it into hers, entangling their fingers. How many times they had done that since she had found Misty, Cordelia wasn't sure. It felt natural and easy now. "I promise."

Misty rested her head on Cordelia's shoulder. "Shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Delia." Her eyelashes fluttered. "You lie, and the fantasy makes me hopeful." Pink lips slid across each other, wetting them. "I can't hope anymore. Can't afford to lose it. Can't afford to lose you."

"Oh, Misty…" A tear rolled down Cordelia's cheek, and she leaned over to press a tender kiss to Misty's temple. "I missed you so much." She murmured the words against the blonde's thick hair. "Don't you understand? I came here for you, all this way. I won't leave without you." She studied the other's pensive, tired face, blue eyes meeting hers, empty, almost soulless. "Misty?"

Misty shook her head and looked away. "I—I'm okay." She relinquished Cordelia's hand and hugged herself around the middle, folding slightly there. "It's okay." She stared hard at the gray ground. But Cordelia did not move, both eyes fixed on Misty, waiting for explanation. "I don't want you to risk anything for me," she finally mumbled. "I'm not worth it, and here you are…"

"You are worth it," Cordelia insisted.

"You're the Supreme. The coven needs you to survive, and you're groveling around in hell for a couple lost souls who never had a chance."

Cordelia scowled. "You're right. I am the Supreme. That means I'm the top bitch, so what I say goes. I say that I don't want to live without you, so I'm bringing you back to life. Stop moping." She glared at Misty.

Shaking her head, the Cajun witch giggled quietly as she wiped her eyes and her nose. "'M sorry, Delia," she mumbled. "Y'ain't gotta snarl at me." She took the Supreme's hand again, staring at its back. With her index finger, she traced the bones and the veins there. Cordelia had a gardener's hands, roughened in places, fingers long and adept. "I reckon I better get up off my ass, then."

"Are you strong enough?" Inwardly, Cordelia kicked herself. Emotional instability was a symptom of magical exhaustion, and combined with the stress of the situation, she should have anticipated a little backlash from Misty's heroic magical expenditures.

"I'm with the top bitch witch, ain't I? I think I'll be alright." She pushed herself up with the palms of her hands and wavered on rubbery legs. Cordelia steadied her with a hand on each hip. "It's not like I'm going to get much rest here, anyway. We're in hell, after all." She lifted her eyes to meet Cordelia's again. "I want a long shower once we're back."

"Anything you want."

"A hot one."

"Yes."

"With lots of steam and shampoo and soap."

Cordelia couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, you'll get a shower with everything you want." She sighed and allowed Misty to slip an arm around her as she staggered. "But we've got to figure out where we are first. Did you have a destination in mind when you transmuted us?"

"I…" Misty paused a second, nibbling on her bottom lip. "I was thinking about getting up high, so they couldn't reach us." She scanned the gray square. "Looks like we're on a rooftop, don't it?"

"It does." Cordelia swallowed the thickness in the back of her throat and approached the tall edge of the roof, which gave way to a steep drop yards below. The pavement had cracked in places, and a mess of stones and glass littered the street. "I think we're on the roof of the school. Over there—" She nodded to a cloud of settling dust several blocks away. "The herd is still running."

Misty breathed, "Good god." Her eyes glittered. "I hope the others are alright." She turned back to Cordelia. "How are we going to get down? The school was bad enough the first time—there might still be some of those things in there—"

"And you can't use magic." Cordelia's gaze swept over the horizon. Nothing reflected in her eyes. "Let's—Let's travel along the tops as far as we can. Maybe we'll find a fire escape somewhere. We can use the view to try to find the others. The longer we spend up here, the longer you have to rest."

They approached the gaps between the roofs, gauging the distance—about three feet, give or take a few inches. "We follow the herd until we can't, is that right?" Misty guessed, regarding Cordelia. The Supreme nodded. "Alright. Jumping roofs. Just like parkour." She sucked in a deep breath. "I actually don't like heights that much," she admitted in a squeak.

"Together," Cordelia urged. "C'mon. Let's get a running start." She took Misty's hand. "Are you sure you're steady?"

"I'm fine." Misty's voice had a breathless texture. Swallowing hard, she nodded, and they circled away to run at the gap. They crossed it with ease—and then the next, the next, the next. They didn't slow; neither of them dared, especially when the cloud of dust in the distance seemed to lose its thickness. Both of them gasped for breath. Once, Misty stumbled and scraped her knee, but Cordelia plucked her back up.

As they raced against time and against themselves, building their own spirits, the rumble of the hoofbeats rose up again. "We're getting closer," Misty said aloud. Her voice, fraught with anticipation and apprehension, shivered, but she didn't turn her eyes to Cordelia for support. Instead, she turned her head to the left. "There's only one more roof. If we can't get down there…"

"We'll find a way," Cordelia assured. She started toward the gap between the buildings once again, and just like before, they ran and jumped. Both landed safely on the other side. The top of this roof held a single door. "Strange," Cordelia observed. "Haven't seen one of those for awhile."

The black frameless door held an engraving of initials like the others, and Misty approached it. "Misty," Cordelia dissuaded, "we shouldn't—What are you doing? Misty!" The Supreme stumbled in her haste to catch up with the other witch, but she was too slow; Misty already placed her hand on the doorknob.

"She's talking to me," Misty said. "Can't you hear her?" Cordelia gaped at her. "She has a mind voice. She wants help." She turned the doorknob and swung the door wide open to peer into the room. Cordelia placed her hand on the inside of Misty's elbow to try to prevent her from entering the room, but she balked again when Misty called, "Nan? Nan, I hear you! We're coming to find you!"

The room exhaled a vibrant light, white and steamy like the bathroom mirror after a hot shower, but it chilled both of the witches to their bones. "Are you sure she's in here?" Cordelia pressed.

"I—I think so. I heard her."

"You're not clairvoyant," Cordelia reminded her. Her gut prickled with unease as they entered the white room.

"No, it wasn't like that. It was like—like a crying baby, or something, in my head. I used to feel it when I took care of my sister, and then Nan had it, too. It was definitely her." Misty bit her lip. "I don't know how to explain it. It's just—the impression that she—"

A wail rose up around the corner, and Misty shut up, charging into the fog. Nan balanced on a beam in a gymnast's outfit while other girls surrounded her, jibing at her. "I—I can't do it!" she protested. "Please! I'll fall!"

A harsh-faced coach strode forward. "You'll walk or you're off the team. We have no room for weak links on this team." She sneered. Her face looked almost like Fiona's. "No exceptions made for retards," she scoffed. Nan wavered on the balancing beam with her arms outstretched, tears falling from her red-ringed eyes. The other students laughed a cruel, demonic cackle.

"Hey! That's not very nice! Leave her alone!" Misty stormed into the room with her hands balled into fists, but the moment that she approached, the other girls vanished, as did the coach. Her frown curled deeper. "I wanted to punch them," she muttered.

"Misty? Cordelia?" Nan regarded them both, disbelieving. "What are you doing here?"

Cordelia lifted her eyes as Nan clumsily jumped down from the balancing beam. "Looking for you," Misty answered as she returned to Cordelia's side. "It—It's a long story. Will you come with us? We need your help."

"Help with what?" Nan questioned, narrowing her eyes. "What happened? How long have I been here? How did you get here?"

Misty blinked to Cordelia, hoping to gain some support, and the Supreme delivered smoothly, "I came here with Zoe and Queenie. We were all separated, and we—we need to find them to go back. With you." Her gaze softened. "Fiona's gone now. So is Marie Laveau. You'll be safe again." Nan regarded her with distrust, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Nan, I am so, so sorry for what happened to you. But we really do need your help."

"Why didn't she just bring me back?" Nan nodded pointedly to Misty.

"I can't," Misty answered in a flat voice. "I'm dead, too." Cordelia winced at her sharp delivery, but Misty gave her a warm smile of reassurance. "Will you come with us? We need to make this right again."

Nan considered a moment, eyes sliding from Misty to Cordelia and back again as she weighed their thoughts. Cordelia swallowed hard, keenly aware that Nan was sifting through their brains like flour. Misty, however, kept a soft expression upon her face, apparently unconcerned with whatever Nan could discover. Finally, the clairvoyant witch nodded slowly. "Alright," she agreed. "I'll go with you." She licked her lips. With a second, self-assured nod, she asked, "Which way are we going?"

Cordelia's shoulders relaxed, and she turned to head through the passage back into the gray netherworld. "Can—Can you hear Zoe or Queenie?" Misty ducked after her, eager to stay right beside the Supreme. She glanced back to Nan to ensure that they stayed together.

"Sure. Zoe is…" Nan frowned. "Hiding. She's somewhere dark. She's looking for you or Fiona. She thinks everyone has disappeared, and she's afraid to come back out because something might come back to get her."

"She made it," Cordelia breathed with relief.

"Queenie is closer. She's louder. She's with Marie Laveau and Delphine. They're inside a building. They saw something pass by earlier, and they're worried it will come back if they go back out. They're—They're looking for me." She raised her eyes to Cordelia. "I think they're in the hospital. They went there to look for me. But they didn't find me there."

Misty inclined an eyebrow. "At least everyone made it," she murmured. She turned to Cordelia. "Now we just gotta find a way down from here and track them down, right? Sounds simple. Just pretend there ain't demons chasin' us, and we might be home in time for supper." She patrolled the edge of the roof. "There's a fire escape over here." She swung over the edge and grabbed onto one of the rungs.

Cordelia stood back to allow Nan to go after Misty. "The two of you can decide dinner for the next month," she promised. "Whatever you want, I'll have it made."

"I like hotdogs and spaghetti," Nan replied. "But Misty's a vegan. Just spaghetti for her." She grinned and followed Misty. The rusty rails creaked as they put their weight upon them. "Her favorite food is tofu fried like chicken. She likes everything fried like chicken. That's all her mama knew how to cook." Once Nan had passed down a few rungs, Cordelia followed.

"Will you shut up?" Misty griped just below her. Nan and Cordelia both laughed. "Oh, you're laughing—we'll see about that. Nan, what's going through Cordelia's head right now?"

"She thinks you're really pretty. She likes the sound of your laugh." Misty's hands nearly slipped off of the ladder, and as she rocked, it jangled against the side of the building. Nan grabbed onto the rails with a hiss. "Hey! Would you not? You  _asked!_ "

Misty coughed. "Sorry, Nan." She slipped faster down the rungs of the ladder. Her ears burned, and as she landed upon the platform signifying one floor passed, she lifted her eyes upward. "I think you're purty too, Cordelia."

Cordelia didn't answer; the back of her neck had turned a deep shade of red, and after a moment, Nan reported, "She says thanks in a backward way."

Chuckling, Misty dropped down to the next ladder. "Well, there's all our secrets. I like things fried like chicken that ain't chicken, Cordelia thinks I'm good-lookin'. My ma would respectfully disagree."

"Your mother's a fool," Cordelia said.

"You met her?"

"She met your grandmother," Nan answered for Cordelia, eliciting a grunt of protest from the Supreme. "She told her everything. That's where she got the shawl. She read your diary—"

"Nan,  _please_ —"

"Oh, there ain't nothin' in there with big secrets. Maybe she learned about my first girlfriend—"

"No, she didn't know about that, didn't read that far into it, but your grandmother told her you were gay—"

" _Nan!_ "

"Leave it to Gran. She's the only one who knew. My ma and pa gotta share the family brain cell when it comes to independent thinkin'. I worried about my brother and sister for awhile, but then—"

The ladder groaned as Misty landed on the platform below, and it rocked back and forth with the impact. "Shit," Nan muttered, clinging to the rail. Misty paled, and all of her words died on her tongue as she peered upward. Hearing her thoughts, Nan also looked up. "We got company, looks like."

Above them, several winged women circled, plucking at the bolts of the fire escape from the top. "Sweet Jesus, what are them things?" Misty took Nan by the elbow as the ladder rocked some more. It creaked. She grappled for something to hold onto. "Cordelia?"

"Harpies. From Greek mythology." Cordelia stepped down beside them. "Hurry—keep climbing. We can't afford any more fights." One of the winged women crowed like a hungry vulture. She dove past with a jet of wind that nearly toppled Misty; the swamp witch flinched away, and her sudden movement sent the ladder reeling. "Go!" Below, the harpy landed with a drawn, hungry face.

Misty swung down onto the rungs, taking two at a time where she risked it. Several times, she slipped and caught herself as the ladder continued to tremble. Her breath kept catching in her throat as she scrambled faster. She landed hard upon the last platform, only a floor to the bottom. "Keep going!" Cordelia urged from above. As her feet collided on another rung, it gave way and fell to the street below "Shit!" She dangled there for a moment, seeking hold with her swinging feet, but as she thrashed in the air, she found no support.

A screech started from overhead; the noise blared from above, a crow's furious caw. Cordelia's sweaty grip gave way. She landed on her back on the platform with a gasp, all the breath knocked out of her lungs, eyes fluttered wide. Misty knelt beside her, but before she could fasten her hands into the Supreme's front, a shrill whine of bending metal started. The harpies above kicked the fire escape away from the wall. It leaned precariously, slowly and then faster. "No," Misty breathed. She grappled for Cordelia's hand in the blur of shadow and feathers. Somewhere nearby, Nan wailed, and someone grabbed onto her. They hit the ground with a crash, and Misty knew no more.


	7. Chapter 7

A dazed Cordelia rolled with the impact as she struck the stone ground and landed flat on her back. “Misty,” she panted, one hand grappling for the other witch. She turned her head.  _Where did she go?_  Just moments ago, she had felt Misty holding onto her. With a shriek, the nearest harpy descended upon her, and she curled up as much as she could manage. “No!” Flames fired from her palms. “Nan! Misty!” She flopped onto her stomach and dragged herself around on her forearms. “Nan!” 

“No! Get off! Get off!” Nan protested. Cordelia’s dizzy vision focused on the small witch batting two of the vulture-like women away from Misty’s still body. “Leave her alone!” A sharp wing caught the clairvoyant witch over the head and sent her sprawling away. “Cordelia!” she yelped as talons seized her around the wrists and began to drag her away. 

The Supreme extended one arm. “Stop!” With her telekinesis, she plucked one of the women away and slammed her against the ground, but more of the flock descended to replace it. Her vision danced with light spots and crooked waves, and she knew that she could not possibly burn the harpies—not without hurting Nan. Lunging, she grabbed Nan’s ankles, but the powerful flock continued to drag them way. 

Meaty hands wrapped around one of the hungry faces and wrung the neck. “Stupid birds,” cursed Marie Laveau. Cordelia and Nan dropped back down to the stone street. The Supreme hissed as she struck the ground roughly once again. Queenie and Delphine hovered behind her, all eyes skyward where the wings blotted out the gray light. “Can’t fight all them. Well? Let’s go.”

Cordelia staggered to her feet and rounded back to Misty. “Someone help me!” she puffed. Another harpy dove upon her, and she flung her arms up over her face to protect it. The talons gashed into her arm, but before it could do deeper damage, the bird-woman vanished into flames courtesy of Queenie, who followed. Cordelia hauled the unconscious witch up by one arm. Queenie took the other shoulder. 

Misty’s head lolled over her neck, and she uttered a low groan. “Her arm’s been broke,” Queenie reported. Cordelia blinked dumbly, unable to consider the reality of those words with blood running between her eyes and all of the figures around her moving in ocean-like waves. “What’re you doin’ here? Where’s Zoe? Fiona?” 

Sharply battering wings struck the stumbling witches so that Cordelia couldn’t manage a response, and Marie Laveau rounded behind them with several sharply tossed stones. “Go back inside!” she shouted. “We’re not safe out here! Delphine, would you help that poor girl?”

Delphine ushered Nan along back into a tall unmarked building. When talons flicked at the back of Cordelia’s shirt once again, she held one proffered hand and shot flames once again. They entered a wide lobby with white tile floors. “There, set her down on the floor,” Delphine said, gesturing with one hand. “We were finishing up in here when we heard you screaming, saw those great unholy creatures.” Her chubby hands rolled in front of her; she sent an uncertain look back to Queenie and Nan. “I’m starting to think that I was a lot safer before you busted me out of that cage,” she observed in a quiet voice. 

Smoothing Misty’s curls out of her face, Cordelia lowered her to the floor. “She hit her head. I fell, she was trying to hold onto me, I landed on her.” Misty’s forearm had an unnatural kink in it; already, bruises began to discolor her pale skin. The swamp witch turned her head with another low grunt. “Dear god, can this get any worse?” Cordelia breathed, shaking her head. 

Delphine dropped down beside her and plucked the shawl off of Misty’s head. “We can make her a sling outta this.” She folded the cloth and looped it around Misty’s neck with a perplexed purse to her small lips.

Hands on her hips, Queenie challenged, “Where are Zoe and Fiona? How did you get here? How did you find us?” 

The Supreme wanted to snarl a retort in return, but she bit her tongue, both eyes fixed upon Misty’s slowly waking face. “You weren’t hard to find,” she muttered. “Kyle is a terrible liar.” She watched the fluttering eyelashes and pressed the back of her hand to Misty’s warm cheek. “We were together until the Minotaurs found us. Misty transmuted us to safety. That was where we found Nan, but we haven’t seen Fiona or Zoe since.”

Queenie rounded on the shivering clairvoyant witch whose round brown eyes fixed on her. “Can you hear them? Are they close?” Her eyes slid back to Cordelia while Nan closed her eyes to concentrate. “We’ve found everyone we were looking for. We need to get back to the portal before more of those freaky things catch on to us being here.”

“Can’t leave without Zoe,” Misty mumbled. She squinted up at Cordelia, and her lips contorted in pain. “My arm…” 

Cordelia shushed her. “I know, I know.” She looked back to Delphine, who nodded for the broken arm. “We’re making you a sling to keep until we’re home. Then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

Marie Laveau cackled. “Honey, you a  _witch!_  You gonna take the poor girl to a hospital? What’re you gonna tell ‘em? Yes, doctor, you see, we were in hell, and these vulture women plucked all the bolts out of the ladder so we fell and she broke her arm.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. “They’ll have all of you committed, the whole lot of you. Maybe it’s about damn time.” 

“It’s too _loud!_ ” Nan snapped, drawing her hands up over her ears and her knees to her chest. “You’ve all got to be quiet! I can’t focus on any of them as long as you’re shouting at each other!” 

Misty bit her fist as Delphine took her broken arm and settled it into the makeshift sling. To her credit, she didn’t cry, but her pallor lightened so much that Cordelia feared that she would pass out from the pain. An uncomfortable silence spread over the group, Marie’s and Delphine’s eyes on the ground, Queenie’s on Nan, Cordelia gazing with a worried fondness Misty’s white face. Nan breathed heavily and reached for the nearest mind. “Fiona found Zoe,” she uttered in a whisper. “They’re not hurt, but they’re lost. They’re trying to get outside. There are things surrounding the building—they can’t leave.”

“What kind of things?” Queenie pressed. 

“People with horse legs and men chests. They have bows and arrows. They were chasing Zoe, but Fiona saved her. They’ve barricaded themselves inside.”

“Inside where, honey?” asked Marie Laveau. “Can you tell us that much? Where can we find them?” 

“We can’t find them as long as we’re stuck in here with those vultures outside,” Delphine pointed out. She rubbed her chin in a moment of consideration, but as Marie glowered at her, she averted her eyes, gaze returning to the cool floor. 

Nan massaged her eyes with her thumbs. “They’re—They’re in the lobby of the school. Miss Robichaux's.” She looked to Cordelia for guidance. “We can’t just leave them. We’ve got to go find them.” 

Queenie nodded in vociferous agreement. “The longer we wait here, the more likely we are to get caught. There’ll be something else coming to get us in here. We’ve got a target on our backs now. And I don’t care how hot shit Fiona thinks she is—she won’t be able to get her and Zoe out of this mess without our help.” 

With her good arm, Misty pushed herself up into a sitting position, wincing. “Queenie’s right. We’re sittin’ ducks in here.” Cordelia steadied her with a warm arm around her shoulder, and Misty shook her head to try to disguise the smile that resulted. 

It didn’t fool Nan. “Touching,” she observed in a drawl, “but can we focus on being in love _after_  we get out of hell?” 

“I second that notion,” Marie interjected in a smooth purr, crossing her arms. “How are we going to bust out of here without having a flock of vulture ladies pluck out our eyeballs and entrails? Our little resurgent freak can hardly piece us all back together with one arm.”

“I can’t put anyone back together.” Misty’s dark tone, maddened and woeful, drew every eye to her. She ducked her head. “You die here, you dissolve, you just—disappear. There’s nothing left to bring back. There’s nothing I can do for you.” Her eyes darted back to Cordelia before she surveyed the group again. “We watched Madison. She got trampled, and she—she disintegrated before I could reach her.” She dashed at the corner of one eye, but she didn’t cry. She had already shed too many tears for one day. 

Queenie snorted, lifting her eyes skyward. “So Madison was dead. Knew she wouldn’t have left all of her shit behind.” She bit one lip before she plunged on, “Got anything else comforting to tell us while you’re dumping the bad news on us? It’s already raining, so you might as well make it pour.” 

Marie held up a hand. “Wait. I have an idea.” Her mouth created a crooked line, wavering with uncertainty. “We need to create a decoy. Someone needs to go make a diversion so the others can escape.”

Nan’s mouth twisted downward. “You’re asking someone to sacrifice their eternal soul,” she pointed out. All the stricken faces remained silent and pinched for a long moment. Cordelia tightened her hold on Misty, but before she even spoke, the clairvoyant witch alit with passion. “You _can’t!_  You’re the  _Supreme!_ ” 

Her ears tipped red with heat. She should have known better than to consider it with Nan so near. “I’m the most powerful witch here. I’m the most likely to escape intact.”

“Honey, you saw those harpies, didn’t you? Like, thirty of ‘em? I’d be surprised if your  _pinkie toe_  makes it out of that alive,” Marie Laveau scoffed. She studied her long fingers, elegant nails, shaking her head.

A scowl settled onto Misty’s face. “Then why don’t you do it? You’re the one with the idea, and you’re the one with the longest life. You were immortal for centuries! When is enough enough for you?” The thin voodoo practitioner fixed Misty under an icy stare, but the swamp witch, infuriated with the suggestion, held her gaze. 

Nan crossed her arms. “She won’t do it. She wants you to bring her back. She wants to strike her deal with Papa Legba again. She wants to live forever.” 

“You little bitch!” Marie Laveau whirled around and seized Nan around the throat. Queenie shoved between them and punched the other woman in the jaw, sending her sprawling into Delphine. “Get out of my head, you little heathen!” Lips drawn back into a deep sneer, her eyes slid from witch to witch, each of them wearing a deadpan. 

Delphine interrupted the silence. “I’ll do it.” Marie eyed her, a narrow, pointed look. “There’s no point quibbling about it, is there? It’s either going to be me or Marie. None of you are going to let the others sacrifice themselves. We’re the odd ones out here.” Standing a little taller, she gazed across at the slender black woman. “We’ve been opposed for centuries. In the past, you have always won, and I suppose you will do it again. There’s nothing that anyone can do to change your egotistical mind. But I have lived mine. I accept that. Whatever comes after—if anything—I can handle it.” 

“I’m touched,” drawled Marie Laveau.

Queenie hissed, lip curled, and she turned to face Marie. “Nan, help me with this.” The short witch stood beside her friend, and as both pairs of eyes fixed upon Marie, the black woman started into jerky, forced movements. 

A howl of protest upstarted from her lips. “No—you can’t make me!” Arms flailing, Marie caught onto the front of Delphine’s shirt. “Don’t you dare, you wicked fiends! Get your heads out of my brain!” She plucked at Delphine’s blouse, dragging her, refusing to relinquish her. “Don’t let them take me!”

Misty stood slowly, as if she didn’t trust her legs, but as Cordelia rose beside her, she knew that she would remain steady. “Shut up.” Lips clamped together, Marie could only wail. Under Misty’s cold gaze, her hands pinned back down to her sides, and she staggered, moving past Delphine without protest. Her large brown eyes found Cordelia, pleading silently for mercy.

The Supreme narrowed her eyes as she approached. “You will run from this building making as much noise as you possibly can. You will attract the attention of the harpies and every other creature, and you will run as far as you can until you have successfully led them away or until you are split into pieces by their beaks and talons.” She grabbed Marie by the hair and jerked her head back. “Open your mouth.” As her jaw parted, Cordelia worked a large ball of saliva into the front of her mouth, and she dropped it from between her lips upon Marie’s tongue. 

Marie began to gag and attempted to spit. “Swallow it,” Misty growled. She flanked the Supreme, Nan on her other side, Queenie hanging back but holding the same scornful expression. Marie gulped audibly. Her expression melted into one of complacence, and after a moment, each witch lifted their influence, as she no longer required it to march toward the glass doors. 

Delphine held the door open. “See you someday,” she promised the witches, an unusual glint in her green eyes. Queenie inclined her head once. “Wait until we’re down the block. It should be clear by then.” She pressed a smile before she filed after Marie Laveau. 

Every face pressed to the glass as the two split off in a sprint, shrieking and waving their arms, wailing cries, and the harpies dove upon them in a battering flurry of wings and feathers. Marie was faster, but Delphine was sturdier, and she had her wits about her to knock the opponents away with her arms. As the last of the flock flapped after the two decoys, Queenie wrenched the door open. “Lead the way, Nan. Take us to them,” Cordelia asked. 

The witches split from the floor of the building. Misty had an awkward twist to her gait, one side of her face pinched up in pain as each footfall sent pain jarring through her broken limb, but Cordelia refused to let her fall behind; each time she slowed, the Supreme propelled her onward from behind, even after the screeches and the screams had faded from their ears. Nan ducked into a narrow alley, and Queenie followed her without question. “Delphine is dead. Her voice stopped.” But Nan didn’t stop, didn’t so much as glance back. Each face creased with the reality of the experience, but no one slowed. 

Nothing about the outside had changed visually, still gray, still dull, still eerie and uncomfortable, but sounds clicked from all around. “Stay quiet,” Cordelia ordered. “He’s got his guards out and about.” She ushered Misty ahead of her. “They’ve got to be looking for us.” Shadows occasionally danced upon the sidewalk, and when they did, everyone froze with bated breath, but when the movement shuffled on, so did they.

They knew that they had drawn near when Nan pressed herself flat against a brick wall. A steady clip-clop of hooves passed by. “Centaurs,” breathed Queenie. Eyes swung around to Cordelia, and the Supreme knew that she had to lead, that she could draw ideas from no one else. The girls expected her to get them out of here safely. “What are we going to do?” 

Cordelia swallowed hard. “How many are there?” She directed the question at Nan. “How many can you hear?”

“None of them. They’re—They’re not human, they don’t have souls.” Nan gulped and shuddered. Queenie shuffled around to peek around the corner, but she shook her head, unable to see anything. 

“We need another decoy,” Misty told them.

Nan pouted her lips. “You have a broken arm. You can’t do it,” she reminded with a sharp look. 

“It’s just a lap around the building,” Misty protested. “Distract the herd long enough to run them around the building, enter a backdoor, head through the house, and then everyone goes back out through the front door. It’s smooth plan.” 

“Let Queenie do it,” Nan pressed. 

Narrowing her eyes, Misty gave Queenie an uncertain look. “No offense, but I’d rather _not_  see you leaking hamburger helper all over the front lawn.” The black witch stiffened into a glare, but she had no reasonable response. 

“They have bows and arrows,” Cordelia reminded the quietly bickering witches. “Running isn’t enough. You’d also have to use your telekinesis to keep the arrows from killing you. With one arm, I don’t think you can do that safely or efficiently—especially when we don’t know how many we’re up against.” She set her mouth into a frown. “I think I should do it.”

Misty scowled. “You’re just out to be a martyr today, aren’t you?” Cordelia flinched from her sharp tone. The blonde sized her up with a steely look upon her face. “You can’t. Not by yourself.” Her hard eyes allowed no room for argument. 

Cordelia tried anyway. “I’m the Supreme of this coven. I’ll do what I think is best for its welfare.” She held Misty’s gaze, but disquiet tickled her innards; fear burbled inside her for her own safety, for the safety for her students. A petty nervousness which she attempted to calm argued that she couldn’t quarrel with Misty, not now when she had come so far to earn the other’s affection and trust. “I’m going to serve as the distraction.”

“Then I’ll go with you.” The sharp words didn’t match the soft smile that touched Misty’s face, both nervous and reassuring. Cordelia opened her mouth to debate it further, but Misty interrupted her. “You said it yourself. You don’t know how many of those things are over there. Even a Supreme stands no chance if there are thirty, forty of them. We’ll watch each other’s backs.”

The thought that passed from one woman to the next did not require Nan for translation; Cordelia could read the intention upon Misty’s determined face.  _They’ll have both of us or neither of us_. And while this was a mentality that Cordelia would have supported if their roles were reversed, it left her unsettled, the notion of Misty making an unnecessary sacrifice, hobbling while already wounded to defend a witch who should have been capable enough to look after herself. “You can’t stop me,” Misty said, deciphering the tentative look upon Cordelia’s face.

“I know.” Cordelia’s eyes moved to the other two girls. “We’ll do just as Misty said. We’ll run around the back of the house and come in that way, go up the stairs and through the right wing, down to the lobby. That gives you enough time to get Zoe out of there.”

“How are we going to stop them from chasing us into the streets?” Queenie pressed. “I’ll still be leaking hamburger helper if y’all don’t keep ‘em from gettin’ after me.” She shot Misty a glare, crossing her arms, and the swamp witch ducked her head to avoid eye contact. 

Eyes shining, Nan piped up, “We should set the house on fire and collapse it on them!”

“Hey, that was my idea,” Misty interjected, and Nan blushed and apologized. Queenie huffed, eyebrows floating higher up on her face. “But can we do that?” Misty continued. “I—I’m not very good at the whole  _setting things on fire_  business.”

“We’ll call that plan A,” Cordelia confirmed. 

The corner of Queenie’s lips ran into a deep frown. “What’s plan B?”

Nan said, “There isn’t one.” All of them shared a long look. Cordelia felt her eyes drawn back to Misty’s. She wasn’t prepared for this, for the risk, for the consuming fear and the potential loss. She would have done anything to wake up from this hell.  _Raising the dead was not meant to be easy_. 

With her good arm, Misty brushed the back of Cordelia’s hand. “Let’s not waste any more time,” she said. She drew herself up with a strong posture. “We need to go now.”

Cordelia nodded. To Nan and Queenie, she said, “Run as soon as we’ve rounded the corner of the building. Find Zoe and Fiona, and head back out. If we’re not with you, don’t wait. Burn that shit to the ground and get the hell out of here.” 

“I have surprisingly few qualms against doing just that,” Queenie observed in a monotone, eyes to the stark silhouette of the tall, dark buildings around them. “Hurry it up, then. See you all on the other side.” 

Misty slipped through the small gathering first with her eyes narrowed and her slung arm drawn tightly close to her body; Cordelia flanked her. The swamp witch found the shadows naturally, drawing herself into them, floating as if on the air with silent footsteps. Cordelia eyes followed Misty’s trim figure rather than sticking ahead, and she had to force herself to glance over their shoulders several times to ensure that no one had noticed their presences yet.

The shadow of the first centaur crossed their path at the corner of the ironwrought fence, and from there, they lined in files, ten facing the street and ten facing the building. Each carried a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over their shoulders. “Shit,” Misty breathed. She shuffled her feet, ducking into the darkness. “Here.” She gathered a couple large stones from the broken pavement beneath her feet. Cordelia narrowed her eyes, perplexed by the blonde’s strange behavior. “Don’t let ‘em shoot me, alright?” 

The Supreme grappled for a catch on Misty’s clothing for a moment as she strode out into the light, and she parted her lips to hiss for Misty to come back, they hadn’t made a plan, she didn’t know what to do, but before she could propose any different solutions, Misty hurled the first stone against the back of a centaur’s head. “Hey, buster! Look at me!” She danced in place, an awkward, crooked thing, having only one arm to maintain her balance. She lobbed a second stone against the flank of another guard, and a third ricocheted off of the fence between the legs of another watchful horse-man. 

When the first arrow sailed, Cordelia wasn’t prepared, but the moment it arced gracefully, precisely, through the air, it dissolved into soot, and she bolted from the narrow path where Misty had left her in hiding to join the flight. The swamp witch flung one of the spikes from the fence through the offending centaur. The violent assault on one of their own caused the herd of centaurs to abandon their posts, fletching their arrows as long limbs dashed after the two fleeing witches. 

Cordelia could see the back of Misty’s head, her luxurious blonde ringlets flailing in the wind, and once, the bright flash of blue eyes returned to ensure that Cordelia hadn’t been left behind. “Go, go!” the Supreme urged. With a wave of her hand, she ripped down the gutter from the top of the building and dropped it behind her; Misty settled on flinging the fence up from the earth and impaling several of the guards on it. 

The arrows rained so that neither witch could possibly have stopped all of them, but Cordelia raised a shield of flames above them and ignited the grass. As they scrambled around the side of the house, up the back steps, they both turned back, and with combined telekinesis, they crumbled the stone steps to rubble. Misty’s face had gone white and tense from pain. “Are you alright?” she panted to Cordelia, wide eyes scanning the Supreme for injuries. 

“I’m fine—” The peace lasted no longer as the first of the herd vaulted up into the back of the house where his companions had not managed the leap. Cordelia shoved Misty ahead, up the vaulted staircase through the right wing. At the touch of their feet, each stair crumbled; Cordelia lit the banister on fire and directed the flames up the wall to the ceiling, but little impeded the progress of the herd of determined, violent horsemen. An arrow sailed so closely above Misty’s head that it brushed her hair and impaled the wall just beyond. “Watch out!” 

The hallway flattened into bedrooms, numerous bedrooms; the initials on every door glowed with firelight as thick gray smoke swirled between the two witches and blinded them. Cordelia grappled in the darkness and found the soft heel of Misty’s hand. “Delia—Can’t see—”

“Keep going!” Each deep gasp whirled dizzily in and out of the Supreme’s mouth. But then, in the distance, she spied the windows of the lower floor. “We’re almost there!” These were the stairs that she had fallen down, the ones where Misty had patched her broken arm, now going up in smoke. “Go! Run!” She could not make out the figures below, but the tall, grandiose front door swung open, and the black smoke sucked out into the atmosphere, clearing the way if only marginally for the fleeing witches. The thunder of hoofbeats still pursued them, but among the crackling of the collapsing home going up in smoke, it felt distance, intangible. 

As Cordelia dropped to the first step of the staircase, the first step to freedom, Misty’s hand slipped from hers; the swamp witch had to steady herself on the banister. The floor began to cave from beneath them, too much pressure upon it, too much weight, too many flames licking at the foundation and eating like termites at all of the vital supporting beams. A stair split beneath Misty’s foot, and her foot plunged down into emptiness, but she caught herself on the banister and hauled herself back up with her good arm. She hauled herself onto the banister on her ass. “Slide!” she gasped back to Cordelia. Like a child enjoying the novelty of a staircase, she kicked off from the stairs and glided smoothly to the bottom.

Cordelia propelled herself after Misty, but a brawny, sweaty hand seized her by a tangle of her caramel hair. She choked out a short scream as the centaur whirled her around. His fat fingers creased through her soft hair, wrenching her head back. “No—” She lifted her hands to repel him, but a second man twisted her arms behind her back. A coarse beard scrubbed her face and neck. A hoof smashed against the banister, and it crumbled and fell to the floor in splinters, leaving no railing to separate one floor from the one below. 

“Cordelia!” Through the thickening smoke, Misty’s voice echoed, attracting Cordelia’s attention back to the task at hand. Each breath ached. _She’ll never make it._  Back up to the top of the stairs through the fire and the soot-filled air, fighting the centaurs with only one arm—they would both succumb to smoke inhalation if the demons didn’t kill them first. “I’m comin!”

She snatched against the sticky grasp around her face. “No!” Her voice had a strangled, nasal texture. “Run away! Run away!” Eyes sliding open to slits, Cordelia hoped to catch a final glimpse of Misty’s face. The haze left her indiscernible, a mere silhouette at the base of the stairs. The figure settled a single foot upon the staircase. With a jerk of Cordelia’s head, the stairs burst into flames, effectively separating them, and Misty recoiled, her arm thrown up over her face to shield herself from the heat. “Run away, Misty!” 

Orange danced in a mingling demonstration of sprayed embers as Cordelia’s oxygen-deprived vision left her pleading for any semblance of clarity. She could no longer focus on the centaur’s angry black eyes; they wavered within his beastly face. Misty’s voice was faint below, the words unimportant, the timbre of her accent everything that Cordelia craved. _I can hear her voice._  That much was a comfort to Cordelia. A flesh-colored smear glowed before her, and just over the shoulder of the centaur, he held his quiver of arrows. _Weapons—could use those._  Large black blots danced in her eyes. 

Blood spurted across her face, and her eyes fluttered wide once again to see the arrow acting of its own accord. It jutted into the centaur’s abdomen and then yanked free and then plunged inward again. As the monster relinquished its hold upon her, she swooned backward, unable to catch herself. With no railing to bar her fall, she toppled. The rush of air past her arms, flying, and the heat scorched her cheeks. Her last cling to full consciousness faded before she hit the ground. 

Catching Cordelia’s body with magic caused a deep throbbing pain between Misty’s temples, the sharp outpouring to support the falling witch causing magic to rush out of her. The blonde witch could not manage to lift Cordelia with willpower alone, so as the Supreme settled on the burning floor, Misty used her one arm to grab Cordelia by her wrist and drag her backward a few feet. “C’mon, Delia.”

The Supreme’s head lolled. Misty turned her head to try to stifle the smoke from burning her eyes. Blood trickled out of both nostrils. “Delia, please, get up. I can’t lift you.” The crumpled witch twisted and groaned, sitting halfway up, and her eyelids fluttered. Misty squatted and slung her arm around Cordelia’s body. “We’re almost—almost there—”

The heavy, sagging weight of the Supreme nearly drove Misty to her knees; Cordelia’s legs slumped beneath her like a drunkard who had lost all faculties. She dragged at the sling, moving the fractured arm in a seesaw. “Delia,” she whimpered. The door, still slightly ajar, only feet away now—another step—another—

Misty collapsed against the front door, and it swung wide on its hinges. “Help.” She intended to shout, to yell for the others to come to her aid, but her voice could only manage the tiniest of croaks. “Somebody…” A deep wheeze whistled through her lungs.

Zoe ran to them first. “Misty—Somebody, help me!” She put her arms around Misty’s waist. “Somebody get Cordelia!” The footsteps on the front porch reverberated like rolling drums, and Misty couldn’t track the faces; she only knew that someone unfurled her fingers from Cordelia’s shirt, and she whined. “I can’t believe you both made it out of there.” 

“I’m blowing the roof off of this place,” Fiona announced. “Delia, dear, would you stand up?”

“She’s unconscious,” Nan said.

Queenie puffed, “We ought to get as far away from this place as we possibly can while we still have legs. Is Cordelia alright?” Her voice grew louder as Zoe hauled Misty out into the grass, and she settled into the yard, rocking back and forth with lost balance. Beside her, Cordelia was strewn flat on her back, blinking and grunting but not yet fully awake. 

Nan replied, “I think she’s fine. She’s thinking loudly.”

“Well, that’s always a good sign.” The splintering of the home resounded so that all conversation stopped as Fiona, with a few jerks of her hand, crushed the wood to slivers, busted the glass out, watched it crumble. “Shit, Fiona, don’t you have any chill? You’re going to attract every demon within a country mile!”

“Misty,” Cordelia grunted, and the blonde scooted nearer to her, studied her face. Each of them had burns, raised pink flesh, and sooty smears on their faces and hands and clothes. “How did you—What did you—” She coughed, her mouth a small O of effort, and her lips paled. She heaved another breath before rasping, “Are you okay?” 

The blonde witch couldn’t manage more than a weak grimace, an attempt at a smile. “I’ve been better.” Her back ached from supporting her broken arm, and the sling had been cocked askew by the harried run. The broken bone had a swollen throbbing agony to it. Her whole body pulsed from that single area. She turned to face Cordelia straight on and offered her good arm. “Here—sit up.” Her lips trembled as Cordelia took her hand, and she pulled her up.

Wiping her eyes, the Supreme struggled to focus on Misty. She was so tired. Everything twinged with exhaustion, and her swimming vision only proved an underlying need for mental reprieve. “I told you to run.” 

“I wouldn’t have left you behind if they made me queen of the world for it.” Misty jutted out her jaw. “We promised to watch each other’s backs, and that’s what I did.” She pursed her lips, both eyes fixed on Cordelia as she struggled for her next words.  _I love you_ , and they seemed so simple and yet so distant. Instead, she cradled Cordelia’s hand in her own and pressed for a smile, a more genuine look this time. 

It fell away immediately. The ground quaked with approaching footsteps, large feet, and from behind the smoking remnants of the house emerged six cyclops led by a single man bearing long dreadlocks and scarlet eyes. “You come here and topple my home—free my spirits, my most precious wards—destroy my monsters. You filthy, disgusting witches. All that I have granted you, and still it is not enough.” He opened his dirty hands to the group. Nan and Queenie squashed together, fearful that they would be separated; Misty shifted nearer to Cordelia, prepared to defend her, as if she could fend off a deity with one arm and a migraine between her temples. Fiona took a step forward to represent the coven. 

“I care not for your explanations. Seize them.”

Each cyclops plucked a witch from the group and bound her arms with a silvery twine. “The hell is this shit? I can just burn it off!” Queenie protested, but under the watchful eyes of her fellow witches, she struggled but could not burn it from her wrists. The rope disabled her magic on contact. 

“I gave the witch her powers, and I can take them away,” purred Papa Legba. “Do you feel paralyzed? Hopeless? Stripped and violated?”

They tore Misty and Cordelia away from one another. “Don’t, please—she has a broken arm,” the Supreme begged. It did not hinder the guard who wrenched Misty’s arm behind her back; her following shriek and sputter of curses and tears and vomit made Cordelia turn away, hiding her face. 

“You will come with me now.” He grinned with his nasty, yellowed teeth. “I will show you the hell that you have all been so desperate to tour. You will pay for this with your lives.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Before them, the mundane, gray scene shivered away into pixels. The fire vanished, leaving only a stench of smoke and flesh, and the street underfoot crunched into brown grass and pebbles. Everything had a singed, blackened appeal, and the atmosphere warmed so that beads of sweat rolled down Cordelia's temples and softened the back of her neck. "You will all accompany me to my lair," purred Papa Legba, extending one arm to them; his smile could have seemed inviting, but the glint within in his scarlet eyes indicated every underlying malevolent intention.

Embers smoldered at the base of each tall stone wall that surrounded the witches; they could see no sky. "Please." Cordelia found her voice first, quivering and weak as a butterfly's gossamer wing. "This isn't their fault. Take me and let them go."

"Bullshit," Queenie spat. "Zoe and I came here first. You can't take the credit for everything." She jerked several times against the cyclops, but the blank-faced giant did not yield. Without their powers, none of the witches could resist the sheer brute strength of the beasts that now held them captive. The black witch screwed her up face as she glowered at Papa Legba, and then she deliberately stomped her own foot.

The deity didn't flinch, and she cursed under her breath. "You foolish girl. It is the duty of your Supreme to protect you—something that Cordelia knows quite well." He regarded the Supreme with an incline of his head. "But even you should know that the souls here are not your wards any longer. I have no mercy and no sympathy for a greedy witch who forgets her place. You belong in the land of the living to rule the living."

Misty's tight voice surprised the coven. She had turned white as a sheet, and her tone wavered as she squeaked, "Then let her go. The coven needs her." She didn't make eye contact with Cordelia, who stared desperately at the side of Misty's face, pleading for a single glance. "I—I'm sure she won't come back," she choked out. Several glistening tears rolled down her cheeks, and her lips trembled.

Approaching her in long-legged strides, Papa Legba appraised Misty for a moment. "I gave you quite a gift, child," he uttered, "and you made good use of it. But I can see your intentions, and your lover shall share your fate. Perhaps it was in my plan all along." He tilted his head into a sickening smirk.

Lifting her head, Misty's narrow eyes made contact with the crimson depths of Papa Legba's. "I don't give a shit about your plan," she hissed. "I believe in God." Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but before anyone could manage a word, Papa Legba slapped Misty hard across the face. Zoe winced; everyone turned their eyes to the floor of the tunnel except Cordelia, who couldn't rip her gaze off of the blooming red mark on Misty's cheek.

"I would smite you on the spot if I were not so certain of the enjoyment I will gather when I burn your Supreme in front of you." One of the girls whimpered; Cordelia wasn't sure which one. "I will make you watch all of them disappear into a world where you can never revive them, and then I will make you follow them. Consider it penance for your misbehavior, my sweet Misty." With an index finger, he trailed a tear off of Misty's cheek. She leaned away from his touch, breath bated and lips twisted downward into a sneer. He tilted his face into hers with his lips slightly parted, as if he intended to kiss her, and Cordelia's stomach clenched. "I can taste the disgust on your breath," he whispered.

Pulling away from the blonde witch, he scanned a glance over the rest of the coven. "Follow me," he ordered his guards. They gave no verbal response, but they apparently understood, as they followed when the deity strode away from the group. Cordelia's cyclops dragged her along with too long strides so that she stumbled; Misty's, likewise, had no mercy, and several times, she swooned as if to faint only to loll back onto her feet. "Believe in God." Papa Legba snorted. "God can't help you here. You'll find no aid but the darkness of your own heart in my world."

The shadows danced long across the floor of the tunnel, the light dim as Cordelia found herself staggering after Queenie. It thinned so that they formed a single file line, so that monsters had to stoop in order to keep their escorts propelled after their master. She wanted to plead, to bargain with her own soul, but she knew she could expect no mercy from Papa Legba. Misty doomed herself with noble words and intentions, and Cordelia could say nothing to make her case appear brighter to the deity. _This is all my fault._  The realization of it sank onto her, smothered her. She never should have pined after a lost soul; she never should have allowed any of her girls to come here in the first place. She should have known her own power. She should have protected Misty and Nan and Madison so that no one could've harmed them.  _I have done so much wrong._  And now, in her grandest attempt to rectify every error, she committed the gravest fuck-up of all.

"There's no need to remain so starkly silent," invited Papa Legba. The tunnel had no branches, but the scenery didn't change, almost like walking on a treadmill. "This is the last opportunity at conversation that you will ever have with one another. You might as well make it count. After all, friends are most noted for their friendly interactions with one another…"

Queenie interrupted, "I'm having a hard time thinking of small talk while you're jibing on about our imminent spiritual deaths," in a snide tone. Papa Legba chuckled, but he fell silent. "Zoe? I told you this shit was a bad idea. I told you that book was a bad idea. Your little white girl ass has to drag us all down here anyway."

Zoe mumbled, "Sorry. It was a lot easier in my head." She tugged against the cyclops. "Can you loosen up a little? I'm walking to my death. It might as well be comfortable." The one-eyed stone body did not respond nor defer to her will. "Of course not." She sighed. "All of this never would've happened if I wouldn't have been so anxious to lose my virginity."

"The hell does that mean?" Queenie snarled.

Nan piped up, "She wouldn't have known she's a witch if she hadn't had sex and made her boyfriend's head explode." The silence ensued again, no one else attempting to break the silence or fill the void with jollity. After a long moment, Nan pressed, "Misty?" in a soft tone.

"Uh-huh?" The swamp witch tripped more than the others, and her breaths came in ragged, uneven pants, unable to steady herself with the pain from her wrenched, broken arm.

"Cordelia really loves you. She's thinking about it right now. How sorry she is that you died and she wasn't able to save you. How much she wishes that it could have been different. How much she wanted to tell your grandma that you were okay again."

The Supreme couldn't manage to work up to a blush. She had no embarrassments now; she didn't care that Fiona would hear or that someone would misinterpret her intentions. On the walk to her death, she had no intentions.  _Only regrets._  "Well," Misty hummed, "I love Delia a lot, too. And if we had a chance of gettin' to be alive again, I would give her a big sugar for the world to see, 'cause this whole savin' people from death has been more of a trip than I would've ever wanted anybody to make for me."

Fiona muttered, "I can't believe it." Eyes fell to her where she strode through the line patiently, silently, head down and stringy blonde hair hanging around her face in a frame. "We're here because my daughter's a lesbian."

"Bisexual, actually," Nan corrected. "It's a thing. You should know. I can tell everyone who you're thinking of right now. Naked. Licking your vagina." She giggled at the word.

"Go ahead." Unlike Cordelia, Fiona's cheeks tinged a darker shade of pink. "It's not like we need to have secrets anymore." She lowered her head, glaring pointedly at the stone floor of the tunnel so that her hair obscured anyone from staring at her. "I have no shame."

Zoe snorted, "It looks like you've got a lot a shame. Who is it, Nan?"

"Fiona  _did_  Stevie Nicks. She  _did_  the white witch." Nan continued to giggle uncontrollably. She doubled over at the middle, but the cyclops plucked her back upright. "I can see it all!"

"Delia?" Misty mumbled.

"Yes?"

"If Stevie Nicks ever wants to shag me, I'm kicking you out of bed for the night. Do you mind?"

As easily as if they had reclined on the couch and made bad jokes, a smile warmed Cordelia's face. The softness of it caused her eyes to water.  _You'll never hear her voice again_ , her insides provoked.  _You'll never see her face. You'll just disappear. There will be nothing left._  "If Stevie Nicks wants to shag you, I will personally undress you for her." Her wet cheeks burned, and she wanted to wipe away her tears and steady her quivering, weepy voice.

A pained slur marred Misty's accented voice. "Well, gee, if it bothers you so much, I'll just tell her no. You don't have to cry about it." The soothing words rose a tittering chuckle from Fiona and Zoe. "I bet she isn't that good of a shag, anyway."

"Fiona thinks she is." Nan had a self-satisfied smirk. "Fiona thinks she was the best shag ever. She thinks if she could come back to life, she would try to shag Stevie Nicks again, since that was something that she didn't do enough."

Queenie cut in, "Yeah, well, I'm sure that they really hit it off. They probably passed the time snorting coke out of each other's asscracks."

The laughter was palpable then, some of it nervous with hysteria, some of it mirthful and genuine, some of it a shallow deflection of the panicked shadows looming before them. Nan provided no one else's thoughts for a long while as the coven descended into silence once again; Misty's every step diverted slightly off the straight and narrow, like a woman who had had one too many drinks. Zoe ducked her head, mousy brown hair shrouding her face. "I don't think the rest of us could tell stories about our best shag," she finally said aloud. "Nan?"

"Mine was Luke," she answered in a monotone; the mention of him robbed her of her brightness as she subdued. "Do you think that I'll see him again?"

"No chance of it now, girl, that's for certain. This escapade has been your doom." Papa Legba halted and swung back to face the witches. "I'm glad to see that humans have not changed. You all still think that sex is the most fascinating gift bestowed upon you, as if I have not given you powers so mighty and strong that you could topple an empire with a wave of your hand." He spoke in a friendly tone, but the words held underlying aggression. "So that even in your last conversation, you do not repent, but you speak of your own insatiable personalities. I should have expected nothing less." His yellowed smile spread wide. "What petty minds. What dark souls. I shall consume each one of you."

He extended one hand, and where previously had been empty air, a large mahogany door stood. "Please, friends, enter. Take a good long look at the place of your ultimate demise. I have brought so few souls into this room over the centuries. Only the ones who truly infuriated me."

Arranged like a cult's worshipping grounds, Papa Legba had diagrams drawn on the ground in blood. A singed post was mounted at the front of the room with a hole in the stone ceiling leading to true darkness. "The ones who have perished here—oh, I'm sure you know many of them." The cyclopses dragged the witches into the room, tying each one to her own post. Cordelia scanned the room evenly from her position. "Judas. Pontius Pilate. Brutus and Cassius. Benedict Arnold. More recently, an ugly man named Osama bin Laden."

As soon as Misty was secured to the tall rod, she began to fight. She jerked and hissed and grunted and snarled with a vicious glint in her eyes. "Let us go, you sick bastard! Let us go!" The bright look that she had once exchanged with Cordelia over plants had vanished. "You won't get away with this!"

"Oh, dear, but who is to stop me?" Papa Legba smirked. He lifted his hand and waved a dismissal to his beasts. "You may go, my sweet pets. Collected the corpses of your fallen. I can care for the coven myself. They will not resist."

At those words, Misty shrieked. Her face began to redden. She garbled incoherent words in her screaming and thrashing against her restraints. She paused just long enough to breathe, and then she screeched again. Cordelia shook her head. All of the previous mirth earned by the conversation vanished. "Misty," she pled in a whisper, "calm down." But the resurgent witch could not hear her. The other witches turned to gawp. Misty's seemingly calm, sluggish demeanor had disappeared, replaced by this maddened witch desperate for escape.

As Cordelia examined the faces, she found every pair of eyes drawn to Misty's thrashing body except for Nan's.  _There's something going on_. In fact, the clairvoyant witch stared hard at the ground, intentionally glaring there so that no one could see the look upon her face, and she scraped her toes over the earth.  _What are they planning? What is Misty doing? She's going to hurt herself more._  "Please," she implored, "don't make this harder."

"Oh, by all means." Papa Legba smirked. "I enjoy hearing the screams of the frightened. It fills me with such vigor, such power, that I feel truly rejuvenated." The last cyclops left the room, and with a wave of his hand, the large mahogany door swung closed. "How small you all look before me now. How miniscule. How weak. How pathetic."

"I am not!  _Not!_ " bellowed Misty. She yanked harder against her bounds.

Striding smoothly around her, he brushed by, pleased expression unwavering. He landed beside Cordelia. "As I promised, my sweet. Your darling will watch you burn first." He trailed a finger down her neck. "There's no need to cry." She couldn't keep the tears from falling now. "I'm sure your beloved could tell you all about the sensation—the flames licking up your clothing—melting off your flesh. If only she hadn't already driven herself mad with grief." Cordelia couldn't brush the snot from her nose with her bound hands; as the string descended from one nostril, Papa Legba forked it away. "You humans will always crumble before someone of true might. Your meek powers pale in comparison."

With a smooth tug, he unwove Cordelia's wrists. "I trust you won't try anything stupid, my dear. You must accept your fate here. If you resist, it will prove much more painful for all of your friends." He grinned as he regarded Misty's antic disposition, red streaks melting across the witch's face. "I must say, this is the first time I've had someone lose all of their sanity before the flame. I am touched to have such an effect on a young woman whose only desire was to live." His calloused index finger traced the thin blue trail of Cordelia's radial vein in her wrist. "A desire, an opportunity, which you stole from her."

"Jesus," muttered Queenie, "you don't have to rub it in." She set her dark eyes into narrow slits following the deity. "I think she gets the point." Cordelia hung her head. The soot-blackened floor smeared and shimmered to her teary eyes. "Just kill us and finish it."

"Silence!" he bellowed in response, dreadlocks lifting into a tall flare. "You will not interfere with the process of soul consumption! Close your mouth or I will close it for you!" Zoe upstarted, sucking in her breath, eyes widening in terror as he led Cordelia past. Fiona's starstruck gaze followed, lips slightly pursed with the disapproval that she had held during her whole life, the disappointment. "Regard your Supreme, witches, and watch the remnants of your coven crumble."

Misty wailed; her voice had softened into a hoarseness, vocal cords worn from the shrieking and cursing, but she thrashed into a sweaty madness, determined to make a distracting ruckus now. Papa Legba fastened Cordelia to the stake with a quick knot. "Just think of how different things could have been, my dear, if you had realized your own strength soon enough. If you had saved Nan, if you had prevented Misty from dropping into an underworld from which she could never return." His hot breath condensed on Cordelia's cheek. "You were weak, Cordelia. You were blind. You were so reliant on the people around you for strength and for happiness… You were a poor choice for Supreme. Surely you realize that."

In a bare whisper, Cordelia managed, "I do." The splinters from the stake prodded through the back of her shirt. The coarse rope tightened around her wrists in a sharp rubbing. _It will end soon._  If she vanished, she would feel no pain. What would the coven do? They would discover three piles of ashes in the floor, no way to accurately identify the next Supreme, no council to turn to for support. But those concerns were not hers to consider.

"Any last words?" purred Papa Legba into her ear; the wet upside of his tongue curled over her earlobe, and she shuddered in disgust, eyes pinching closed.

"I…" Cordelia licked her lips. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't face them from the center of that tiny stone room. "I'm so sorry to all of you. This is all my fault. I fucked up so many times, and if I could undo it all, I would." She coughed and had to clear the thickness from her throat to continue speaking. "And, Misty…" She wanted to look up, wanted to make eye contact, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Everything Nan said was true, is true. I should have been braver. I was a fool not to love you when I had the chance."

"Delia?" Misty whispered, and slowly, Cordelia lifted her head, snot streaming out of her nose in broken sniffles. The blonde gazed evenly back at her. For a long moment, they held one another's gaze. A miniscule smile rose over blue eyes, pale lips. "I believe in second chances."

The ropes fell from her hands, and with a jerk of her arm, the other witches' bounds released them, untied in a demonstration of bold telekinesis. Misty lunged for Papa Legba first; the astonished deity dove out of her way, but Nan propelled him backward with her outstretched palm. "Help me tie him up!" With only one usable hand, Misty twisted the rope around his ankles, but she couldn't manage to pluck the knot through.

"I got it—show me, show me—" Nan's brow scrunched up as she watched the steps for the tie in Misty's mind. Her clumsy, sweaty fingers tripped over one another. "Someone get his hands!"

Queenie and Zoe ran over. "I stand on him, you tie up those nasty hands. This guy needs a damn toothbrush," Queenie announced. Papa Legba groaned and writhed, but under the influence of his own magical rope, his magic refused to come to his summons and aid him. Queenie stood squarely in the middle of his back so that he could not fight the other witches.

"Fold him up in the middle! I want him hogtied!" Misty summoned another long twine of rope and used her teeth to stabilize his bound legs and arms together. She snatched and jerked the binding until he had no room to wiggle at all. "Somebody gag this bastard!" Zoe took off one of her socks and stuffed it into his mouth, wedging it in deep.

"We ought to burn him." Fiona's eyes smoldered murderously. "Just like he would have done to us. We owe him that much." She lifted her hands, and the body hovered in place. "Help me. String him up and watch the ashes dissolve. Put on a real show."

"Seconded," Queenie agreed, and Nan and Zoe nodded, the latter looking pensive. But Misty had stopped listening to them.

She whirled to where Cordelia had fallen from the stake into a crumpled, weeping heap on the floor, grappling for her composure. All semblance of it had vanished with her energy, and now, exhausted and weak, she could not tell up from down, relieved hysteria shaking her body. "Delia," the blonde witch whispered as she knelt beside her Supreme. She offered an awkward, one-armed hug which Cordelia accepted mid-sob. Misty winced at the clinging weight upon her broken arm, but she made not a sound of protest. "You're wrong. None of this was your fault."

Weak tears continued to fall into Misty's pale tangles of hair. Cordelia pressed her face into the corner of her neck. "I swear it, none of us blame you. He pulled a dirty trick, sayin' all that nasty stuff that ain't true. You're better than that." Misty smoothed her good arm over Cordelia's head and mussed her hair, her soot and tear-streaked face. "Are you okay?"

Cordelia gulped, and with the hard lump swallowed, she found her croaking voice reachable. As she nodded, she wheezed, "It was—It was all a ruse?" Her breath shook with a nervous, hysterical laughter. "I thought you were losing your mind." She shook her head, unable to focus on any coherent thought; the sheer relief of it all swamped any continued worries.

"I had to distract him, didn't I? If he saw I knew how to untie his knots, it wouldn't have been a very effective escape plan. Anyway, Nan knew what I was up to. My daddy taught me to tie and untie every knot a bad guy might know. Used to say some boys had the devil in them. I don't think he ever thought I'd use it against the real devil, though." Misty bumped her nose against Cordelia's cheek. "C'mon, get up off the ground. We still have a whole lot of hell to run back through, don't we? No time to waste." She squeezed Cordelia's wrist. "Hmm?"

Brown eyes fluttering up to meet Misty's, she nodded.  _Right_. The word didn't want to roll off of her tongue, so she glued it to the roof of her mouth and focused on the warm curve of Misty's pink lips as she slid her hand into the other's, felt their fingers curl together. "Delia? I really do love you."

With the affectionate clutch of Misty's sticky hand in hers, Cordelia's own smile wavered onto her face. "I love you, too." She stood shakily and helped Misty stumble to her feet. "Is your arm okay?"

"All of me has seen better days," Misty responded with a cheeky dip of her head. She pressed her elbow closer to her body with a wince. "Let's get out of the way." The other witches had strung up Papa Legba and levitated him just above the ground, waiting for Cordelia and Misty to open the way for them to bind him to the stake.

Both of them tilted their heads back to observe as Fiona fixed him to the large wooden stake. "This man has caused grievous harm to many witches! He unleashed a horde of monsters upon us! His beasts killed Madison Montgomery and long-time allies of our coven, Marie Laveau and Madame LaLaurie. What do we do when someone harms our own?"

"We burn them!" shouted the women, a sharp discoloration of rage on each person's face as they regarded the newly erected effigy. Everyone extended a hand to the wood, ejaculating flames; Misty and Nan regarded the fire with satisfied, pensive faces. The firelight danced long shadows on the floor as Papa Legba struggled and bellowed his muffled curses against them, thrashed with the inevitable agony of the flames. The stench of burning flesh and hair permeated the cave. The black gust of his soul coiled with the smoke up through the hole in the roof, leading to a place that none of them cared to examine or explore.

When the last of him had dissipated into ash, Misty uttered a monotone, "I never thought I would wish that on another person." The words drove Cordelia to settle a warm arm around her waist, tugging her gently nearer, and Misty shuffled into the supportive embrace.

"Honey," Fiona purred, "he was a lot of things, but I don't think he deserves the label  _person_  even for a moment." She studied the group once. "I can't believe the lot of you. You've all got more grit than I would've wagered." She sharply inclined her head, some semblance of an approving gesture that Cordelia had never earned in Fiona's lifetime. "It's time for you all to get the hell out of here. Come on." She whirled around to fling open the tall mahogany doors.

The winding, dark tunnel through which they had come had transformed back into the gray scene of New Orleans; they stood in the center of a deep forest so that they could not see the sky for all of the clustered trees and the thick canopy of browned and blackened leaves. Nothing lived here, eternally clinging to the branches in death, never falling but never freshening into green in the spring. "Which way are we supposed to go now?" Queenie demanded. "We're in the middle of nowhere! Where the hell is this?"

Zoe shifted her weight from foot to foot. After a moment of consideration, she flicked a lock of her brown hair behind one of her ears, eyes sliding around to the other witches before she said, "I—I think we might be close to where we came in. Out in the country, by Fiona's hell cabin with the axeman and the pond." She studied the others for a moment, hoping for some support or denial. "We followed a road into New Orleans. We just have to find it, and we'll get back to the portals."

"If that's even where we are," Nan pointed out. "We could be in any random swamp. We don't know how big this place is, do we?" She had crossed her arms over her chest, and she shrank a little bit. The uncertainty chilled each witch to her core. Exhaustion had sunk deeply into their bones, leaving them quivering with the unkindness of the afterlife. The trees loomed over them. Shadows stretched longer and darker than the faint source of light should have allowed. Each witch shared with her sisters the desperation curled in the pit of her belly.

As Cordelia inhaled the stale, humid forest air, she cleared her throat. "I don't think it goes on forever. Think about what we've seen so far. Everything is condensed—cramming more spirits into smaller space. Everything is generalized. Papa Legba built this based on the area where he is strongest, where is the most familiar. He wouldn't have made it in the span of the whole world."

"Yeah, I have no idea what you just said." Misty swayed on her feet. "You're the Supreme. Lead the way. Give me your leather, take from me my lace. All that." Flicking a string from the front of her stained shirt, she peered over at Cordelia, attempting to disguise the apprehensiveness there on her face. "I will run to you down whatever road you choose," she sang, quiet, off-key, eyes both desperate and hopeful and somehow managing to smile. The expression made Cordelia want to smother her in everything she deserved—hugs and kisses and intimacy that she'd been denied for so long. It was time that Misty got her shot at all of those things. But they weren't safe yet.

Queenie snorted. "I'm going to regret comin' to look for you as soon as you put on the first Fleetwood Mac record, I just know it." She inclined her eyebrows and nodded to Cordelia. "But she has a point. We need to stick together, and I'll be damned if I follow any of these other people around for the rest of eternity."

"You may be damned regardless," Fiona muttered, but the others ignored her.

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Cordelia considered before she nodded. "Alright. I guess we'll pick a direction. Will someone burn something onto the trees we pass so that we know we're not walking in circles?"

"On it," Zoe vowed.

The crunchy forest bore thick undergrowth, thorny bushes plucking at pants and flesh. The pinpricks drew blood from tiny wounds, but no one complained of the pain. They had all felt too much pain for one journey; they all needed a catharsis. In places where it darkened, they could only make out one another's silhouettes. They carried limited conversation as Zoe and Queenie took turns marking the trees with black singe markings from the flames they summoned with their hands. Occasionally, someone would break the silence.

"Fiona? Did you really shag Stevie Nicks?" Zoe asked at one point.

She sighed. "Yes. I did. Not my proudest moment." She crossed her arms as she climbed over a rotting log behind Nan. "You would be surprised how many famous people reached their glory through their magic. I had access to many of them, your idols. Many of them were otherwise talentless."

" _Hey!_ " Misty snapped.

Fiona chuckled. "I said many, not all. Celine Dion, Cher, Dolly Parton." They paused to wait for Queenie to catch up on scarring the tree trunks. "I've always preferred the touch of a man, personally."

Zoe and Nan echoed agreement as Queenie jogged to catch up with them. "Misty thinks we're all nuts," Nan provided. "She's thinking about Cordelia's breasts."

"Nan!" Misty snapped, aghast. "Can you not? I'll start thinking of  _your_  breasts!"

"Go ahead. I have nice ones." Nan giggled and used a hand to cover her mouth as a blush rose to her cheeks.

Cordelia, trying very hard not to think of the fact that Nan had exposed Misty's internal workings to the world, stumbled over a branch and dove downward into a ditch. She rolled a few feet and landed in the basin. "Shit." She had landed in standing water, all thick and oozing and black like a mixture of oil and tar.

Stooping over to offer her a hand, Misty said, "Looks like you found the road." She winced and tucked in her injured arm as she pulled the Supreme up out of the ditch. "Are you alright?"

Scanning her surroundings, Cordelia nodded. "I'm fine." She met Misty's blue eyes and smiled. "Thanks." She looked over the group. "Which way should we go? Left or right?"

"Are there any road signs?" Misty suggested mildly, glancing over the others for support or denial.

"Papa Legba doesn't need signs, and his monsters are too stupid to read," Queenie muttered, tapping her foot impatiently. She rubbed her eyes sleepily. "Someone pick a direction. It will either be right or wrong."

Fiona provided, "It's left." Several pairs of eyes regarded her. "I remember when we were heading into town." She nodded to the road. "There was a sharp curve, just like that one, that we passed on the way into New Orleans. We shouldn't go around it coming out. Yes?"

"We have no other options," Zoe said with a shrug.

"And you are sorely out of time." The smooth, dark voice of Papa Legba interrupted the train of thought carried by the six witches. The tall man stepped from behind some trees, but he was no longer a man; he stood ten feet tall, arms formed of flesh and scales, three long necks giving way to demonic dragon heads with gnashing teeth. His hind quarters were comprised of hooves and a long scorpion's tail. He dropped down to walk on all fours. The voice did not come from any of his heads but rather from somewhere deep within his chest. "You cannot kill the guardian of the underworld," he growled in a gnarled tone. "You can only change his form—and you have made me infinitely more powerful, the lot of you."

Misty shrank back against Cordelia; the older witch looped an arm around her and, with the other extended palm, fired a stream of flames. The monster fanned them out in the air. "Fools! Your magic cannot touch the eternal!" Smoke streamed from the six nostrils, and three mouths parted.

Fiona moved first. She leapt to the center. "Run! All of you, get the hell out of here!" Zoe and Queenie needed no convincing, the latter dragging Nan behind. As the fire bellowed from the monster's gut, Fiona stood tall, her telekinesis shattering tree trunks. They toppled one by one on top of the monster, but he did not buckle.

Misty dragged at Cordelia's elbow. "Delia!" she was shouting, Cordelia could see her mouth move out of the corner of her eye, but she could not move from the spot where she had set her roots to watch her mother die; even the sweet tones of Misty's voice could not shake her from her reverie.

The former Supreme extended her hands to divert the maddening flow of the fire against her. As the heat bore down upon them, she turned to look over her shoulder. Thousands of emotions were written upon her face—regret and sorrow and satisfaction—before her magic could no longer sustain the inferno twisted within her opponent, and the blaze consumed her.

Misty knocked into her so hard that she nearly fell to her knees, and Cordelia swung around, gaping in horror. The pavement beneath their shoes sprayed broken pebbles; far ahead, they could see only spots where Queenie, Zoe, and Nan had raced ahead of them. Neither of them could consider their tired eyes any longer. The ground quaked with each of the beast's footsteps.

As they twisted along with the cracked street, the forest opened into an expansive field. A cabin and a pond rested on one side, an overgrown brown meadow on the other, and ahead a shimmer of light—the portal, Cordelia realized. The other witches waited outside, moving too slowly as Nan and Queenie dove in side by side. Zoe lingered. "Go! I have to go last, or it'll close!"

Large fissures appeared in the ground as Papa Legba, awakened in his demonic form, drew nearer, and where Cordelia would have ordinarily argued to martyr herself, she silenced every argument upon her tongue and shoved Misty headfirst into the portal. The sensation of traveling through the vacuum consumed her, and she saw the last of hell vanish into darkness behind her.


	9. Chapter 9

With a loud puff of breath, Cordelia reentered her body, sitting bolt upright. Her back throbbed dully from the time she had spent flat upon it; her head spun out of control, vision hazy with exhaustion and hands quivering and clammy. Beside her, Queenie scrambled upright and grabbed her phone to check the time. “It’s been—It’s—It’s—What day is it?” she stammered. “Zoe? Zoe!” The last witch remained, head thrown back and hair splayed, unmoving save for the slow rise-fall of her breasts. “What the hell? Why isn’t she back?”

“She was right behind me—” Before Cordelia could speak, Zoe gasped back into her body with a dark flare. “What took you so long?” 

“He grabbed my ankle. I had to kick a bitch.” She rubbed her ankle. “What time is it? How long were we gone? It felt like days.” Her eyes roamed the room, Cordelia to Queenie and back again. “Queenie?”

“It’s Sunday evening. We missed a whole day.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Where are Nan and Misty? Where are they supposed to come from? We brought them back out, didn’t we?” 

Cordelia opened her mouth to respond, but before she managed any words, a shriek arose from downstairs. “We left the others all day.” She stumbled to her feet, legs stiff and ankles reluctant to support any weight after the long period of disuse. “We’re lucky they didn’t burn the house down.” Several other screams rolled through the walls and floor so that the younger witches pulled themselves back upright and staggered like drunks through the door and onto the stairs. 

The rest of the coven, a cluster of girls, stood in front of the wide open front door and huddled to watch the front lawn. Some were crying; some pointed and whispered; others merely stared. The Supreme headed down the staircase in a series of awkward fumbles as her body remembered itself. She felt almost blind again, just as clumsy, but no one regarded her differently as she called out, “What’s going on down there? Girls?” She landed firmly upon the floor and approached, and they parted to allow her passage, Zoe and Queenie immediately behind her. 

One of the older girls piped up, “There’s a retarded girl digging a hole in the front yard!” She stuffed her hands deep into her sweater.

Cordelia strode out onto the stones of the front porch. Already, a shallow grave had been vacated as Nan flung soil from a place only a few feet away. “Bitch,” Queenie addressed the witch who had spoken to Cordelia, “she is  _not_  retarded!” At the scolding, the teen mumbled an apology and ducked her head, shrinking back into the crowd. 

The voices attracted Nan’s attention, and she lifted her head to regard the others. “Help me!” she pleaded. Soil layered thickly in her hair and clothing, streaking her face and nose like plastered makeup. “She’s got a broken arm! She can’t dig herself up!” She shoveled at the earth some more with bare hands; blackened tears and snot smeared her face. “I can hear her! She can’t breathe!”

The witches needed no more encouragement to leap off of the stone front of the porch and dive upon the overgrown lawn with their hands fastened like talons to fork at the ground. Queenie landed hard on her knees beside Nan while Cordelia dug above them, Zoe below. As the layer of soil grew shallower, it began to tremble with effort from below, and then one elegant arm shot forth, still buried at the elbow. Cordelia raked the soft, dry earth from the top of Misty’s chest and neck; her filthy face surfaced last as she snatched the blonde witch’s arm and hauled her up.

Misty sputtered a mouthful of dirt and coughed forcefully. Her thick hair held globs of clay clinging to it, pale skin marred by the filth at every turn. Only her blue eyes marked her apart from any unearthed corpse, eyes which fixed wholly upon Cordelia even as she struggled to free herself from the soil that she had inhaled. Her broken arm hung limp in front of her as she lashed her feet and legs against the pinning pressure of the grave. “Misty,” Cordelia panted. “Are you alright? Talk to me, baby.” 

As she spoke, the pet name rolled off of her tongue without even the slightest consideration, but Misty regarded her with a startled expression for a moment, and Cordelia almost went to stammer an apology, but an easy grin touched Misty’s dirty face. The younger witch leaned forward, lips puckered, noses brushing, before she gave Cordelia a soft kiss right on the pink line of her mouth. 

The world bloomed in that moment, all colors glowing slightly brighter as the grit worked between their faces. Misty had the dry flavor of hard work upon her tongue like the pot of a dehydrated plant. The gardener within Cordelia wanted to moisturize and revive her just as she would a neglected flower. 

Misty severed the warm kiss with an apologetic smile crinkling the edges of her eyes. “I promised you a big sugar if we got outta there, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Cordelia confirmed. She grinned, bashfulness rising to redden her cheeks. “I just didn’t expect it would be so dirty.”

A weak chuckle rose up from the cajun witch’s chest as she shook her head. She grasped onto Cordelia’s shoulder for support. “Yeah, it was pretty gross, wasn’t it?” Shaking her head, she disentangled her legs from the earthworms that they had uprooted in their desperation to free her. “Help me up—please.”

Zoe and Queenie and Nan backed away to give them a wide berth as Cordelia helped steady the newly risen witch. The young witches of the coven ogled with mingled uncertainty and apprehension. “Miss Cordelia?” ventured one youngster. “Is that magic?” 

The Supreme lifted her head to regard the other witches, considering the answer for a long moment before she responded. “Yes, girls. It’s magic.”

“It’s called  _bringing back the dead,_ ” Queenie cut in, voice sharp and hands on her hips. “And if any of you little bitches try it, the council will have you expelled from the school and exiled from the coven. It ain’t something to fuck around with, so don’t even think about it.” She held out a hand to gesture to the newly emerged friends. “This here is Nan. She can hear all of your thoughts, so if you’re doing anything illegal or dangerous, we’ll know.” Then she pointed to Misty. “And this is Misty. She fixes dead things. If you get yourselves killed, she’ll bring you back, so we can punish you for being reckless. There is no escape—unless you get eaten by alligators or chopped up into bits. Then there’s nothing she can do.” 

Misty wheezed a nervous chuckle as Cordelia passed, drawing herself up to her full height. “Classes will resume tomorrow as scheduled. I suggest that you all eat dinner and finish your homework. You have two new council members to impress.” At her words, the coven dismissed itself, flying up through the wings in mingled lines and bundles of mumbles, eyes wandering backward to the newcomers for analysis. Cordelia knew she owed them more of an explanation, and she was certain that they would eventually work some things out for their own, but as she turned back to face the four girls before her, she had to prioritize their care. “Get cleaned up and get some rest,” she instructed Queenie, Zoe, and Nan. “I’m taking Misty to the hospital.”

The blonde witch balked. “Er—couldn’t you just fix it up?” Four pairs of eyes turned to her, and she shuffled in discomfort. “I can’t say I’m a huge fan of the whole doctor scene…”

Cordelia ogled at her in disbelief. “I’ve never had to repair a fracture before. I could make it worse than it already is.”

Queenie suggested, “We could kill you so that you come back whole again,” but everyone fixed her under a sharp glare, and she fell silent, shrugging off the idea as a passing notion. 

“I don’t care if it’s a little crooked. I don’t want some man cuttin’ me open and putting pins and needles in my bones.” Misty swallowed hard and set her jaw as she lifted her head to regard the other witches with a pleading glow in her eyes, standing out starkly from her face, browned by layers of dirt. “Please, Cordelia?” 

The Supreme wanted to object, but as she considered the dark lines beneath Misty’s eyes, the swollen exhaustion in her own muscles and stiff aches in her bones and joints, she knew that a trip to the hospital would only prolong their suffering. A surgery repairing Misty’s fracture would take hours under the knife and weeks to heal; magic could do it instantly, assuming that Cordelia could perform a successful spell. “Alright,” she agreed with an incline of her head. Her gut churned in discomfort at the prospect of performing the unfamiliar magic, but she shoved away the anxiety. She was the Supreme now. The position came with responsibilities that she would have preferred not to accept. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”

“Queenie, will you help Nan look less like an exhumed corpse? I’ve got to call her grandmother and tell her we made a mistake.” The first three girls trudged into the mansion with their eyes drawn upward to the stairs; a trail of dirt followed Nan’s footsteps, outlining them and shedding from her clothing. Zoe led the way, driven by her anxiety. 

Cordelia’s eyes followed them, but once they entered a room upstairs, their voices were muffled. Misty flanked her like a shadow. “There are a bunch of ‘em, aren’t there? Witches, I mean. More than I would’ve guessed.” 

The Supreme smiled, but it didn’t reach her tired eyes. “Yes.” Misty rubbed her eyes with her fist, and Cordelia continued, “Let’s go to my room. It will be quiet there.” Her open door policy with her students hadn’t led to much; she seldom had so much of a knock at her door, as the girls preferred to go to Queenie or Zoe for aid. As she started up the stairs, Misty followed immediately behind her. Dust shed from her matted hair with each impact, showering like pebbles upon the wooden floor.

Cordelia didn’t recall the messy state of her room until she entered it. Misty’s things, the ones that she had borrowed and the ones she had unpacked, were still strewn across her bed where she had left off in her search. Heat rushed to her face at the sight of it all. “Have a seat. I need to look for a spell.” She had more urgent matters than the state of her bed.

Misty obediently sank into one of the chairs across the room from Cordelia so that she could watch the Supreme’s every movement, never letting her out of sight. “You were looking through my stuff?” she asked, curious but not aggressive.

The question still caused Cordelia’s heart to leap into her throat, and she had to gulp to keep it from pouncing right out onto her tongue. “I had to find a way to you. I hoped that if I had more pieces of you, it would be easier…” As her breath constricted around her voice, speech no longer wanting to escape, she had to clear her throat. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, and I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.”

The cajun witch dipped her head with a sleepy, drawn smile touching her lips. “I don’t have anything to hide from you,” she said as she yawned. “I trust you.” Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she had to shake herself to force them to stay open, to focus upon Cordelia. She shifted her position in the chair. “Besides, if it helped, or even if it just made you feel better, I’m glad you had it.” 

Cordelia thumbed through her collection of books in the small bookshelf at the foot of her bed. “It did,” she reflected, not thinking of her words as her index fingers brushed the titles with a sustained reverence. “Your scent on the clothes, it helped me focus. It helped me feel nearer to you.” She selected one tome, but after flipping through the yellowed pages, she replaced it on the shelf. 

Giggling softly, Misty hummed, “That’s sweet.” She leaned her head back against the chair. “I’m glad it was you coming to find me. I don’t think anyone else would have cared enough.” Plucking at the hem of her shirt absently, she continued in a soft tone, “I never minded it, being alone, but the idea of nobody missing me, or noticing I was gone…” A shiver passed through her body, raising goosebumps on her exposed flesh. Her lips pursed and her eyes swam with emotion that she dared not shed. 

Combing through the pages to a spell, Cordelia approached Misty in the chair; she knelt down and held her gaze with an empowering heat. “You won’t ever be alone again,” she promised. She grasped Misty’s good hand and squeezed it. “I promise. The coven is your family now. And so am I.” A single tear fell, smearing a clear track through the black dust on her face. Cordelia batted it away with her thumb. “It’s okay. You’re safe here. I swear it. I won’t ever leave you, and I’ll never let anyone take you away from me again. I made a mistake once, but I’ve learned.” 

Misty sniffled, hanging her head in shame as she couldn’t prevent more tears from falling. “I told you,” she choked out, “it wasn’t your fault. I’m not mad at you.”

“I know.” Cordelia reached out to cup Misty’s broken arm. The witch cringed at the contact. The skin had an ugly, mottled blue-black appearance, bruises strewn up and down her flesh. Cordelia didn’t bother warning her against the inevitable pain of having the bone healed. She spoke the incantation in a firm voice and shoved all doubt from her mind. “Sana quid fuerit nocere. Reduc, quod quondam fuit mea.” 

The bones splintered loudly, and Misty hissed in protest. She flexed her hand experimentally. “Thank you,” she addressed, massaging the sore place with her other arm. Lifting her eyes back to Cordelia, she grinned sheepishly. “Is it alright if I take a shower? Er, before I ruin more of your furniture.” 

Chuckling, Cordelia nodded, pulling Misty to her feet with a gentle tug. “Yes, yes. You can use my shower,” she soothed. Turning away, she plucked some things off of her bed to straighten up. “Zoe and Queenie had packed everything in that box—” Misty was already picking through it to find some acceptable pajamas. The smile on Cordelia’s face was permanent, unyielding. Every emotion seemed to feed it, fueled by Misty’s presence and air, by her dirty footprints and the smudges of filth that she had left behind on that ugly chair that Hank had given her for their anniversary one year. “Anything in the bathroom is at your disposal. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Misty studied her for a moment, blue eyes glittering like jewels. “Right,” she agreed, but her voice gained a fluttering texture, anxious at the prospect of a wall between them. She swallowed the pulsing lump in her throat as she headed into the bathroom on silent feet. The tile flooring was lavish and white, the wall paint a pale blue; the shag rugs had the same shade. In the expansive, brightly lit room, Misty felt exposed and unsafe, like she had entered an operating room. With a glance over her shoulder, she looked back out into Cordelia’s bedroom, where the Supreme continued folding away the memories of Misty’s childhood.  _It’s alright_ , she soothed herself.  _I’ll just leave the door open._

The prospect caused a flush of heat to rise to Misty’s neck and ears. She studied her reflection in the mirror, face blackened by dirt and hair shedding glops of soil. With her teeth plucking at her bottom lip, she shed her ruined shirt. Her skin had streaks of pink and brown, mottles of bruises, cuts that she had earned in the underworld. The scent of muck rose off of her like the warm underbelly of the swamp. She released herself from her bra and slid out of her jeans and underwear, all of the garments spoiled and stained. 

On light feet, she approached the shower and pulled back the gray curtain to examine it. The large bathtub had shampoo, conditioner, soap, all of a woman’s basics; Cordelia had a loofa dangling from the faucet. The room smelled like her, her soap and perfume. Stooping over, she fiddled with the handle to get the water to come on. The water poured from the bathtub faucet. “Delia?” she called, hesitant as she scanned the room for something to cover herself. She couldn’t use a towel; she was too dirty. “How do you make the shower come on?” Eyes darting around, she glanced over the discarded clothes on the ground. Was she ashamed? No. She had nothing to hide from Cordelia. Still, as the Supreme entered the room, she struggled to make eye contact.

Cordelia had no expectations of finding Misty clad in nothing but her own skin and the soil that remained clinging to her form, and as she drank in the scene, it occurred to her that Misty had no sense of the beauty standards imposed by society, either because she had never been exposed to them or had no care for them. The ethereal witch had a fine layer of hair up each leg, a sprout of blonde curls beneath each arm. Between her legs, she hosted a cream-colored garden. Her bare breasts rose and fell with each tense breath; the mottles of bruises and pink flushes on her skin formed a portrait from which Cordelia struggled to tear herself. 

Shuffling uncomfortably, Misty’s face warmed with blush. “My eyes are up here, Delia,” she mumbled.

The tips of her ears heated with shame. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re just so beautiful.” In her mind, her fingers roamed that bruised flesh, combed through the matted tangles of hair, softened the wiry crest of pubic hair. As those impure thoughts rocked her mind, she pulled the lever underneath the bathtub faucet so that the shower came on. “There you go. Call me if you need anything else.”

Misty stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain, but before Cordelia had the time to leave the room, she thrust her head back out. “Actually—um—” She stared at the ground, ducking her head with embarrassment. “Could you—stay? So I can see you?” Her eyelids fluttered, lips slightly pursed as Cordelia considered the strange request. “I—I know it’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help thinking that you’ll disappear, or, or—I don’t know, I’m sorry, it’s dumb.”

“You’re not dumb,” Cordelia assuaged. She smiled. “I’ll stay right here. Whatever you need to feel safe.” Through the curtain, she couldn’t help but imagine Misty’s bare body gradually growing cleaner, the dirt rolling off of her down the drain, and she had to force herself to clear her mind once again.

Misty vanished back into the shower with a murmur of thanks, but within a minute, she was peeking out again at Cordelia. She retreated upon seeing that the Supreme hadn’t moved. And then she repeated the action twice more. “Are you okay?” Cordelia asked once. “Misty?” 

“Yeah—I’m fine—I just…” She sighed. “I told you, it’s dumb.”

“Can I help?” 

A nervous laugh fluttered from Misty inadvertently. “You could, but I—I don’t want to put you out.” She fidgeted, shaking her head, unable to steady her hands. The dull ache in her healed harm drew attention away from Cordelia for only a moment. 

“Just tell me.”

Misty’s meek words rushed out in a hurried string, panicked; she feared that, if she considered them, she would worry herself out of speaking them at all. “Could you come in?” 

Cordelia hesitated. She should have expected the request, but it still caught her off-guard. “I—Yes. Yes, of course.” The broken agreement came as she fought to shed her clothing in rushed jerks of movement. “Give me a moment.” Dropping her pants, her shirt, her lingerie, everything, she regarded herself in the mirror for a moment; her shadowed face held tired eyes and streaks of sweat and dirt. She was not impressive by any means.  _It doesn’t matter._   Nothing mattered. She would join Misty regardless because she owed it to her. 

As she stripped the curtain back and entered the warm, steam-shedding shower, Misty turned to greet her. “Oh! You’re naked!” She covered her mouth with one hand to restrain her giggles. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that—”

The Supreme laughed as the jet of water danced in her face, the spray blurring her vision. “I’m sorry,” she teased, “did you want me to come fully clothed? I can always step out and put it all back on if you’d like.”

Misty grabbed her wrist, tugging her nearer. “I think I prefer it this way.” She placed a hand on Cordelia’s hip and grinned. “If we kissed now, it would be cleaner than the first time. No more dirt on our lips.” She pushed her face nearer to Cordelia’s, and the older witch caressed the underside of Misty’s jaw with her thumb, eyes fixed on the pink curve that she had craved for so long. The brush of one face against the other sent shivers down her spine.

It had a chaste, sweet beginning, but Misty’s hand on her hip drew her nearer, and her tongue flicked out across Cordelia’s upper lip. Cordelia grunted in response; she ventured closer with an exploratory step as her other hand arced around Misty’s back and glided against the smooth curve of her spine. Misty collided against the wall of the shower. The impact severed them for a moment, each flushed face gazing into the other’s eyes. “Shit,” Misty murmured. “You’re really goddamn sexy, Delia.” The breathy texture to her voice accompanied the heaving of her small breasts. Her lips, more delicate now, touched Cordelia’s pulse point. “I think I’m going to go crazy for you.”

Chuckling, Cordelia bumped her head against Misty’s. “I love you,” she whispered as their noses touched. “Come here, let me wash your hair.” Her hands raked through the long blonde curls, and obediently, Misty turned around. Cordelia pumped a generous amount of shampoo into her hand and began massaging it into her scalp. “You have the most lovely hair,” she complimented as she worked the dirt out of the long strands. “There’s so much of it.”

Misty tilted her head back to keep the soap from running into her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “My gran always loved it, too. She would braid it for me before church every Sunday. Spend hours weaving all of it. I never had the patience to do that for myself.”

“You did it for me.”

“That was different,” Misty defended hurriedly. 

Cordelia swept the suds away from her face. “In what way?” She ran her fingers coarsely through the long locks and wrung out the visible dirt, and then she returned to Misty’s scalp to cleanse it again, impressed at the amount of shampoo that her hair consumed so effortlessly. 

The other witch hesitated for a moment before she ventured, “I… I just wanted you to like me, and I wanted a friend. I had been alone for so long—I was tangled up in all of this magic stuff that I didn’t know anything about—Zoe was with her monster man, and Madison was a bitch, and Fiona was scary.” She couldn’t maintain a steady thought as she spoke, and a nervous laugh shook her. “And I knew you couldn’t run away. You made the perfect friendship victim.”

In spite of herself, Cordelia laughed. “I was never your victim,” she promised. “You were kind. I couldn’t ask for much more.” She turned Misty around by the shoulders so that the shampoo could run out of her hair. “But you turned out to be a lot more than that.” 

Misty kissed her once on the lips. “I’m glad you think so.” Smiling, she said, “I’m ready for bed. Let’s wash up and take a long sleep.” They shared the loofa with some strings of quipped, joking conversation, flinging suds and laughing as they shielded their eyes from one another. When they kissed, their bodies collided in fleshy squelches under the warm stream of water, gradually cooling as they depleted the water heater. Cordelia found her head spinning as Misty stole a peck from her lips at every opportunity, every time they spun near enough to one another for the contact to become a possibility, and Misty’s hands struggled to keep to themselves as they landed on Cordelia’s body. 

Each touch echoed the same loud thought from Misty’s mind, so near to the surface that Cordelia could almost taste it on the other’s tongue:  _So beautiful, so glorious, so magnificent._  Misty’s skin told Cordelia exactly how Misty felt about her, and when those loving words quivered like visions to the front of her mind, she shuddered from head to toe. Misty made her feel worshipped. Hank’s hands had never touched her like this. The mere thought of him felt distant and incongruous with Misty’s delicate palms. Misty’s love held an intrinsic purity that Cordelia knew she could not hope to replicate.  _That is why I went so far. This is why I brought you back._

The water turned icy as they drained the last of the heat, and nipples pebbled with the chill before Misty killed the stream of it. She wrapped her hair in a towel and wrung it out over the tub. It created silvery rivulets down her sides and face. “You’re staring again,” she joked in a light tone. After she let her wet hair fall and mopped up the twisting patterns of water remaining on her body, she took the pajamas that she had selected and donned them; the sheer gown had a pale, silken quality, no sleeves, and it fell to her knees. 

The Supreme ducked her head. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Misty picked up her dirty clothes and dropped them in the trashcan. “I don’t suppose those were salvageable.” 

Cordelia put on an oversized T-shirt to wear to bed. “We should go shopping next weekend,” she said. “You need some more clothes.” 

With a bitter sigh, Misty nodded. “I know. I only got what I was able to steal from my gran without her noticing. A couple records and the clothes I could fit in my bag. I didn’t want her to know I was back. I thought they would hurt her if she knew.” She plucked at the hem of the gown, which had begun to fray with age, and under the white light of the bathroom, its discolored stains became more apparent, the time that she had worn it exhaling from the fabric. “But I made due.” Her face brightened a bit, intentions behind it, unwilling to show the darkness underneath. “There’s no use dwelling on it.” 

Cordelia wore a tired frown. “I know they hurt you,” she said. “But I won’t let anything like that to happen to you ever again. I promise.” She took Misty’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m the top bitch witch now. What I say, goes.” Her face relaxed a bit. “Let’s lie down.” She pulled back the covers on the bed and slid beneath them, the cool embrace a welcome sensation. 

Misty curled up beside her with eyes wide and focused on the side of Cordelia’s face. “Can I snuggle with you?” she asked with a woeful look upon her face. 

“Come here.” Cordelia opened her arms so that Misty could nestle warmly beside her, arms and wet hair strewn about. “You don’t have to ask. I like it when you touch me.” The innocent intention and the darker double meaning in the words brought a blush to Cordelia’s cheeks, but she made no move to redact her intentions. She meant it in every way. 

“I like hearing you say it.” Misty settled her head on the firm uphill slope of Cordelia’s chest. “I like the sound of your heartbeat and your breathing.” 

“Would it be grossly cliche if I said I do that only for you?” 

Misty burst into a fit of giggles. “Yes, it would!” She stretched an arm around Cordelia’s waist and kissed the underside of her jaw, too flattened by exhaustion to sit up and place it higher. “I wanna sleep now.” 

Cordelia smoothed a hand over her hair. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.” 

…

The next morning, Misty awoke with a start to a stark vacancy in the bed beside her. With an extended arm, she searched the bed for any hint of the Supreme, but the warm place had already begun to cool. She snatched upright. Her pulse fluttered into her neck.  _She’s gone._  “Cordelia?” she called, the panic leaking inadvertently into her voice. 

“What?” The Supreme came out of the bathroom with a thick ring of toothpaste around her mouth, toothbrush in hand. “You okay?” she slurred, and Misty swallowed the frightened butterfly of her heart so that it returned to her chest. She nodded, and Cordelia went back to the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth. 

Misty threw on her clothes and picked through her hair so that it looked less like she had crawled up from hell without bothering to brush it and brushed her teeth after Cordelia had finished. “Sleep well?” Cordelia asked as she buttoned up her blouse.

“Yes, it was wonderful.” The dreams hadn’t driven Misty—she had had no dreams. But she had felt safe and warm and loved, all things that she had lacked in recent months, and she awoke satisfied with her own standing. “What time is it? Do you have class?” 

“My class starts in ten minutes.”

“Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?” 

Cordelia shrugged. “No,” she said. She had fallen out of the habit of attending meals after Misty died, typically too consumed in her own mind to realize that she had forgotten to eat. Out of habit, she turned to look at the urn that rested on her dresser. 

Misty followed her gaze. “That’s me, isn’t it? What was left of me.”

Cordelia shuddered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  _I don’t want to think about it._  She tied back her hair into a ponytail and patted it, examining herself in the mirror. “Is that straight?”

“The only straight thing about you.” Misty grinned and pecked her once on the lips. “You look perfect,” she promised. “Go to class. I’ll get rid of the, er—” She gesticulated to the urn on the dresser. “I’ll get rid of that for you.” 

Cordelia kissed her back. “Thank you. If you need anything, come find me. And tonight, I’ll have you and Nan assigned some classes.” Misty’s eyes widened with surprise. Her? Teach a class? It sounded like Cordelia wanted to send the academy to hell in a handbasket. “I love you. Have a good day.”

“I love you, too.” The Supreme trotted out of the room with some books stacked in her arms. After Misty counted the number of steps she took before the sound faded to nothing, anxiety swelled in her chest, thousands of bad things that could potentially happen to Cordelia while she was away.  _She’s just downstairs. It’s not like she’s walking through the valley of the shadow of death._

To distract herself, Misty took the urn and headed downstairs for the back door. Each step echoed in her mind the frames of the centaurs chasing them through the hellish figment that they had experienced when trying to reach Fiona and Zoe. She headed down the back porch and into the backyard. Once she made her way over the firepit, she dumped the ashes into it, and she dashed the urn against the sidewalk so that it shattered into several crunchy ceramic pieces. 

“Miss?” 

Misty flinched at the greeting and swung around with a gasp. A small girl stood before her with a homely gap between her eyes. The tips of her hair were on fire. “Er—hello. Your hair is on fire,” Misty informed her. 

Eyeing the tips of her hair, the witch said, “Oh.” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. The flames shrank down to nothing and vanished. “That happens sometimes when I’m nervous.” She wrung her hands.

At the other’s anxiety, Misty beamed. “Don’t be nervous!” she assuaged. “I’m not scary, I promise. Or, I think I’m not scary. What’s your name?”

“Meg.”

“Well, Meg, I’m Misty.”

She extended a hand, but the other girl balked. “I—I shouldn’t. I might burn you.” She folded her arms and tucked her hands deep into her elbows. “Is—Is it true that you can bring things back from the dead?”

Misty’s smile ebbed a little. “Yes,” she answered as she scanned the young witch for any sign of deceit or malicious intentions. “Within reason.”

“I…” Steam exhaled from Meg’s eyes, falling first as tears but evaporating before they touched her cheeks. “I accidentally killed my friend’s hamster, and she’s really mad at me and she won’t talk to me anymore. I just thought, maybe, if I could give him back to her, then she would, maybe, forgive me.” 

Misty exhaled. A hamster. “I can heal him,” she said. “We don’t want any dead pets causing rifts between friends.”

When they had dug up the tiny grave marked with a cross made of sticks, Misty warmed the body with her hands and watched as he squeaked his way back to life. “Here,” she said as she handed him to Meg. “One whole hamster, free of charge.” She grinned. 

“Thank you so much!” Meg raced back into the house, and Misty followed, satisfaction exhaling from her easy gait and posture. _I think I found my tribe_. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Dee,” Misty whined from the passenger seat of the car. “Can’t I take off the blindfold? I’m starting to feel carsick.” Low tones of Fleetwood Mac hummed from the car’s CD player as Cordelia followed a long, winding road through swamp and forest. “It can’t be that great of a surprise. It’s our eight week anniversary. It’s not like it’s a huge number.”

Cordelia gazed out over the windshield, slowing as she entered Pleasure Bend and turned off of the main road. “We’re almost there,” she promised. “Hold tight. It has to be a surprise.” Nervousness quelled in the pit of her gut. She had required the blindfold for more reasons than the benevolent factor of surprising Misty; she feared that Misty would react poorly upon being returned here. This place held a slew of memories for the other witch that Cordelia could never possibly comprehend. But Cordelia had also made a promise—to return Misty safely to her siblings and her grandmother—and she intended to see it through. If that meant sleeping on the couch for awhile, she was willing to accept the consequences.

“You’re slowing down. Can I take it off now?” She reached to untie the knot. “I’m taking it off. I feel nauseated.” She plucked off the bandana that Cordelia had tied around her eyes and dropped it in her lap just as the Supreme began to form a protest. Drawn to the scenery on the left, only a moment passed before Misty’s voice dropped into a whisper. “No—No, you can’t take me here! Cordelia!” The car pulled to the side of the road in front of the small house with the gravel driveway. “No—please don’t leave me here—”

“I’m not leaving you anywhere,” Cordelia assured. She reached for Misty’s trembling hand. “They deserve to know you’re okay. If you don’t want to stay, then we can go straight back home.” She kissed her on the cheek. “Come on. Look, your sister is already at the door.” 

As she spoke, Misty lifted her gaze to the torn screen door where Mary stood, face glowing. Reluctant and longing, hopeful and dreading at the same time, Misty opened the car door and stepped out into the street. Cordelia followed her. Before Misty’s feet even touched the grass, Mary burst from the house with the dog, Gizmo, dashing ahead of her. “Gizmo!” Misty cried. The elderly labrador ran like a joyous puppy and pounced onto her master with her tongue flapping in the air and tail whipping dandelions off of their stems in the overgrown grass. 

The sunlight filtered down upon the green yard and danced through Misty’s platinum hair, and as she leaned forward to kiss the dog on the nose, to embrace the fat swipes of the pink tongue, Cordelia remembered the image that she had received the last time she was here, the picture that had led her to Misty in the depths of hell. The pure spirit exhaled from her in an ethereal glow. Drinking in the sight, Cordelia inhaled deeply, the sweet mingled scent of wildflowers and manure from a nearby field. 

Mary dove into an embrace. “Mary! You’ve gotten so tall!” Misty swept her up into her arms and spun her around. “And you taught yourself how to braid! I’m so proud of you!” 

“I heard you coming. I heard you all the way down the road. Jeremy didn’t believe me, but I knew it was your voice!” Fat tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. “Why were you gone so long? What did those people do to you? Why didn’t you ever come back?” She shook her head. “We looked for you—we spent days searching—we couldn’t find you anywhere! Ma and Pa didn’t care, and they wouldn’t let us see Gran anymore, and nobody wanted to help us find you, and—” She broke off in a series of sniffles. “And I thought I would never see you again.” 

Misty dabbed the tears off of Mary’s cheeks with her thumbs. “Don’t be silly,” she whispered. “I had to do some soul searching. I had to find my people. It just took me long enough to realize I had left behind part of my tribe, you and Jeremy and Gran—”

“Don’t lie to me.” Mary lifted her eyes, narrow and accusatory. “That doesn’t work anymore. Ma and Pa do it all the time. They lie about what they did to you. I can see it in their heads. Ma thinks about it every night before she goes to sleep.” She gulped. “You didn’t want to come back. You were afraid they would get you again.” A watery smile crossed her lips. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have come back, either. I would’ve run as far away from here as I could and never looked back.”

Amazement crossed Misty’s face like a dawn sun. “Mary, I’ve been so many places. I’ve got a friend who is just like you, she reads minds, she tells everyone’s secrets just for kicks. I’ve met all these women with amazing powers and strengths, you could never imagine all of them.” She looked back over her shoulder to Cordelia, a gentle smile on her lips. “I’ve got the most amazing girlfriend who was smart enough to blindfold me on the way here so I didn’t jump out of the car, and I’ve found the place I really belong. A real family.” 

“Mary!” Jeremy shouted from within. “Where the hell did you go?” He appeared at the door, eyes surveying the scene, and at the sight of all of them, he left the house with long strides, skeptical hope upon his face. “Misty? You—You—” He blinked a few times, shaking his head, expecting her to disappear like a mirage in the desert. Then he charged at her with the same ferocity of the dog and spun his arms around her body into a deep hug. “I can’t believe that you’re home.” He buried his face into the thick curls of her hair and clung to her so closely that Cordelia had a slight jealous tingling within her; as soon as the notion crossed her mind, she shoved it away, but Mary still fixed her under a curious look. Biting her lip, her cheeks flushed with shame.

The witch grinned. “I couldn’t stay away from pestering you forever, could I?” She pinched his cheek, and he retreated with a bashful look upon his face. “I’m glad you’re both okay.” She beckoned Cordelia with an open arm, and the Supreme accepted the invitation, drawing nearer to the reunion. She didn’t want to intrude upon them. “This is Cordelia.”

“We met her,” Mary said with a smile. “She came and looked inside and took a picture that we had. She was looking for you.” A giggle followed, and she elbowed Jeremy to draw his attention. The boy kept gazing over their shoulders down the street. “I didn’t know you were a _couple_ , though. Jeremy, stop looking over that way.”

The teen muttered, “Pa’s on his way home,” as he dropped his gaze from the road. “He was taking some boys from church gator hunting. He just called to tell us that he’s got ten minutes left. Gonna pick up Ma from church and come home.” Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Jeremy looked back up to the two women. “Y’all really shouldn’t be here, neither of you. Pa had you killed once, and he’ll do it again, and—and really, it’s been hard enough keep Mary’s whole mind-reading issue under wraps. You showin’ up now, it ain’t good for nobody.” 

Misty’s expression darkened. “They won’t lay a hand on any of us. I know more now. I’m stronger. And if they threaten you, you’ll come with us. This place isn’t safe for either of you.” She looked over her shoulder at Cordelia for support; the Supreme nodded aptly. “We can take you back with us. I’ll fight for you in court if I have to. They know about us now, the witches. They’ll know that you’re in danger as long as you’re with Ma and Pa.” Examining their frightened faces, shadowed by mistrust and a leaching dream of freedom, she continued, “It’s a wonderful place. There’s so much magic that happens there. You’ll both love it.”

“I want to go with you.” Mary’s eyes shimmered. “I want to be with others like me.” She grasped Jeremy’s hand and looked up at him, meeting his skeptical gaze. He had a worn face too old and too cynical to fit anyone of his age. “I can see it, Jeremy, in their heads. I know you’re not magical, but there’s a place for you there.” 

His lips pressed into a thin smile. “I—I don’t know. This is all we’ve ever known.” He ducked his head. “I guess I’ll go wherever you want me to go. It’s gotta be better than here, anyway.” Mary cheered and hugged him tightly. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, abashed, “just don’t tell anyone that I like you, okay?” 

She winked, poking his chest. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

The gunning of a truck engine roared around the corner, and all four people turned, Misty shuffling to stand beside Cordelia. Their hands brushed, fingers interlocking, as an old red Ford rolled up the carport and parked. Misty’s breath caught in her throat. “It’s alright,” Cordelia assuaged. “They can’t hurt you.” 

“I know.” Still, her voice was a thin croak, as she found air hard to come by. “Stay with me,” she begged Cordelia in a whisper. 

“You know I wouldn’t dream of leaving.” 

Paul climbed out of the driver’s side with a hunting rifle under his arm. “Stay in the truck, Teresa.” He spat some snuff into the grass. “I’ll take care of this.” Cordelia’s stomach twisted at the resemblance between them—the bright blonde hair, the blue eyes reminiscent of Robert Redford. He had a swing to his step, a leisure, and he used his rifle as a walking stick, but nothing could have disguised the rage, the loathing, upon his ruddy face where veins bulged at his temples and neck. His teeth were reduced to brown and yellow nubs. The skin upon his fingers had the same yellowed, tarred tinge from too many cigarettes. “Well, won’t you look what the cat dragged in.” Plunging the butt of his gun into the ground, he thrust his chin up. “The devil ain’t got the grace to drop you on another sucker’s doorstep, does he?” 

“The devil couldn’t keep me,” Misty reported, lifting her head. Her lips and fingers trembled; Cordelia squeezed her hand to steady her. She had to fight to stifle the visions that poured out of Misty’s skin, the memories that Cordelia could not afford to view with any attention to detail. “I hogtied him just like you taught me, Daddy, and then I ran for the hills.” 

He growled, “Don’t call me that. You aren’t part of this family. You’re a curse—you always have been.” He lifted up his gun, not pointing it yet as he seized up the two women and his children behind them. “Jeremy, take Mary inside. I’ve got to finish what I started.” The teen hesitated, lifting a hand onto his younger sister’s shoulder. “Jeremy! Listen to me!”

Jeremy set his jaw. “I can’t, Pa. Misty’s taking us away from here.” He swallowed hard, trying to keep from shivering as he emerged like a turtle from its shell, freeing himself from the oppressive hand of his father. “Mary’s like her. She’s been reading minds, having intuitions, for years. Now it’s getting stronger. She can tell you what’s going through your head better than you can. She deserves to be with people like her, people who can help her learn about it.” 

Paul glowered at Misty. The fearsome look made her shrink, and Cordelia pressed one hand to the small of her back, eyes dancing from Paul to Misty’s bleach-white face and back again. “That’s why you came back. To take away my children. Pervert them in your own sick ways.” He scowled. “You are a disgrace to this family, to this earth, to mankind. I am disgusted that I gave life to you.” As he leveled his gun at her, he said, “Jeremy, take Mary in the house.” 

The dog growled where she sat in front of her owner, hackles rising. “No,” Jeremy clipped. Softer, pleading, he said, “Pa, put down the gun. We can leave without this. We just want to get away. Please, put down the gun.” 

“You’re either with me or you’re against me, Jeremy. You never want to be against the guy with the gun. You’re not an idiot, boy. Take your sister inside and close the door. This is going to be messy.” Jeremy put an arm over Mary’s shoulders, but neither of them relented, standing in a cluster with the two adult witches. 

“You can’t kill me,” Misty reminded him, but her voice shook like a feather in the wind. With all of her conviction, fear caused tears to burble in her eyes. “It didn’t work the first time. You kill me, and I’ll just come back, and if you kill her, I’ll bring her back, and if you kill Jeremy and Mary and Gran, I’ll bring them back, too. We’re untouchable.”

Slowly, he moved the sight of the gun to point at Cordelia. “Is this some demon spawn that you’ve brought back with you, then? Another monster like you to join your cult?” He cocked the gun.

Misty shifted as if to push Cordelia out of the way. “Cordelia is my girlfriend,” she answered. The shaking note leveled slightly in her voice, but her scowl deepened. “She’s a witch like me—the Supreme witch. There’s nothing you can do to hurt us while she’s here.” Yet as she said those words, she shielded Cordelia with her own body, prepared to take a bullet if that was required of her. “Put it down, Daddy. Let us leave. Nobody has to get hurt.”

He huffed. “I raised a faggot magician.” 

“ _Don’t_  call her that,” Cordelia advised. Her brown eyes smoldered with hate; she had heard enough for a lifetime from this man, and his wife’s silence told her everything she needed to know. “It is not Misty’s fault that her parents are too ignorant to accept her as she is—a witch.” Her lip curled. “Jeremy, Mary, get in the car.”

“Don’t you tell my children what to do!” 

As Paul’s hand seized the trigger of the rifle, Misty flung it upward with telekinesis. It fired into the air. She narrowed her eyes at him, grappling with his consciousness under her mind control, and like a puppet beneath her expert hands, he turned the gun and stuffed it into his mouth. “I can make you pull the trigger,” she accused. “I can make you blow your brains out in front of everyone. I can make you taste the acrid steel.” Her hands quaked with power. “It still wouldn’t hurt as badly as it did when you and the sheriff doused me with gasoline and lit me on fire. It still wouldn’t scare you as badly as I was scared.” 

He mumbled against the gagging metal within his mouth, but he couldn’t remove it, his hands no longer under his own control. Cordelia pressed a hand to the inside of Misty’s elbow, advising her without words. At the gentle touch, she let the rifle fall from his hands. The metal twisted under her influence to form a crooked kink in the barrel. “We are going to take Jeremy and Mary away from here. If you fight us, we’ll come back with our whole coven. We will fight you until you’re reduced to dust.” She balled her hands into fists. “You have threatened my family for too long. They deserve better than you, both of them.”

“You won’t get away with this,” he panted, but his expression had twisted into one of uncertainty, of fear. “We—We’ll take you to court. They’re  _our_  kids. You have no right to them! The court will never side with freaks like you!” Large blotchy red marks dashed down his cheeks; he had pit stains growing ever more prominent in his shirt, and sweat ran down his dented temples in hot ringlets.

Misty sneered. “Take me to court. I would love to explain to a judge how you had me burned at the stake—how you posed a significant threat to do the same to my sister. I would love to see your name on every headline in New Orleans, the man who burned his daughter for the magic that he passed on to her.” Paul trembled, silent, watchful. His lips sputtered for something else to add, but he could think of nothing. “We’re going home now,” she said. “Don’t try to follow us.” 

Jeremy and Mary climbed into the backseat, the dog clambering in after them after a waved invitation from Misty. Jeremy stared at the floorboards of the car; Mary wore a pensive look as she looked from Misty to Cordelia. “You wanted to do it.” Her monotone cut through the silence. “You wanted to make him kill himself.” 

Clenching her jaw, Misty glared out the window. “It would have felt real good.” Cordelia shifted the gears and drove away with a single glance back at Paul, standing in the front yard with his destroyed gun laying upon the grass beside him. Teresa started out of the truck to approach him. Misty pulled her face away. “Was that all your plan?” she pressed Cordelia in a delicate voice. 

“No. But it’s probably better this way.” 

“Happy anniversary.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Happy anniversary.” The motor hummed as they turned onto the highway once again, and the CD skipped into activity; it bumped over every crack in the road until Misty turned it off. “What do you guys want for dinner?” 

Jeremy and Mary exchanged a glance, the dog slopped across their laps with a lolling tongue. She alone felt that the situation was positive, and her tail thumped against Jeremy’s thighs at intervals. “Jeremy would like fried chicken,” Mary purred after a moment. “He doesn’t want to say so because he knows Misty won’t eat it, being vegan and all.”

“Thanks, Mary,” he muttered sarcastically. “I’ll eat anything. Mary can pick.” He scratched Gizmo’s rump, and she slobbered a puddle into Mary’s lap in response. 

“Fried chicken sounds nice. Gizmo would like it, too.” Jeremy gawped at her, awestruck by the apparent revelation of the dog’s wants and requests. “No—I didn’t read her mind. She’s a dog. Dogs like chicken. Don’t be silly.” 

Misty laughed. The heaviness in her chest dissipated ever so slightly at the banter of her siblings in the backseat. “I think Gizmo would prefer meatloaf,” she joked, “if she’s the one ordering dinner.”

“She had to learn to love it,” Jeremy provided. “An acquired taste.” 

To assuage Cordelia’s confusion, Mary answered, “Ma’s meatloaf used to make us all feel sick, so we would sneak it all to Gizmo while Ma wasn’t looking and tell her how good it was.”

“It worked great until Pa caught Mary scraping hers off of her plate and beat all our asses over wasting perfectly good food on a dog,” Jeremy retorted. “He always took his with Pepto-Bismol and beer to drown out all the nasty. Honestly, he could have been a little more sympathetic.”

“Yeah,” Misty teased, “thanks, Mary. I couldn’t sit down for days.” Cordelia flexed her jaw at the casual mentions of corporal punishment, something they laughed about like a pleasant memory. Perhaps, to them, it was the closest thing that they had to an enjoyable family gathering. She held the steering wheel a little tighter in her hands. 

“I was  _five,_ ” Mary defended. “And I never thought the meatloaf was all that bad. I was just copying the both of you. Ma’s cooking never bothered me like it did you two.”

Jeremy snorted. “The meatloaf was disgusting. You’re misremembering because it was such a long time ago. It made Misty vegan, for god’s sake!” He made a gagging face, and it earned a tail wag and a big kiss from Gizmo, who found his twisted expression delightful. 

“A lot more than that made me vegan, honey. But the meatloaf was a contributing factor.”

In a slightly dimmer voice, Mary said, “Misty hasn’t told you the story of how she accidentally brought back the Thanksgiving turkey one year, has she, Miss Cordelia?” Misty blanched. “That was the last time she ever ate meat. Gran called her back to teach her how to carve it, and—”

“Can you  _not_  gross everyone out with that story?”

“No, Mary, go ahead!” Jeremy encouraged. Mary, though, shook her head, intending very well to follow Misty’s request. “They started screaming bloody murder and this naked bird comes running out of the kitchen with no head and its guts and blood and shit spilling out everywhere.” Misty’s pallor shifted from white to a pale green shade, and she deliberately turned to stare out the window. “It was so gross. Pa was furious. Best Thanksgiving _ever._ ”

“I remember that day because it was how I learned the F-word,” Mary said. “Everyone was saying it. Ma and Pa and Gran and Misty, too. They didn’t even give her a whooping for it.”

Pity filled Cordelia’s chest as she eyed Misty, distressed and embarrassed by her siblings’ tales, and she took one of her girlfriend’s hands to give it a gentle squeeze. Misty inclined her eyebrows to the Supreme, but she brightened a little and interlocked her fingers with Cordelia’s. “There you have it. I stopped eating meat because I was afraid it would come back to life in my mouth. It was traumatizing.”

Jeremy grinned. “I thought it was awesome, personally.”

“Seconded,” Mary agreed. 

The conversation lolled on for the hour that they spent commuting; Cordelia learned things about them that she hadn’t anticipated having dumped upon her. She embraced those things and the visions that accompanied each touch that Misty placed delicately upon her skin, each memory reflected in conversation. She bought them a bucket of chicken and Misty a serving of mashed potatoes before she headed back to the school

As they pulled up in front of Miss Robichaux’s, Jeremy only ogled while Mary hummed, “Whoa. It’s huge.” She turned around. “Is Gizmo allowed inside?” 

“Of course.” The kids clambered out of the car, each with eyes placed unmoving upon the large building, as if expecting it to disappear before their eyes.  “Kyle will show you each to a vacant room, and we’ll piece together some things for you to wear until we’re able to go shopping this weekend.” Cordelia walked around the car and stood beside Misty.

The butler hovered at the front door, and Jeremy approached without guide, Mary right by his side. They entered with the dog, but Misty and Cordelia lingered outside. Misty’s voice interrupted the humming of the dusk crickets. “Thank you.” Cordelia turned to her, startled by the gratitude on her face. “I wouldn’t have asked this of you.”

“I know.” Cordelia reached to grasp her hand. “They deserved better. We can keep them safe here.” She pecked a place on Misty’s cheek; the flush of pink that appeared there stirred affection within her. “I love you.”

Misty pecked her back on the tip of the nose. “I love you more.”

“Don’t start with me, witch,” Cordelia dared, smile widening as she leaned nearer, kissing her lips once. “I will win. Believe me. I always win.” 

“I know.” Misty placed an arm around her waist. “That doesn’t keep me from trying, does it?” She tugged ahead, so Cordelia followed her through the humid evening air. The teasing quiver dropped from her voice to a more serious note. “Is this really what you want?”

Cordelia nodded. She ran her thumb over Misty’s knuckles in reassurance. “I want your family to be my family,” she promised. “You deserve it. They deserve it.  _I_  deserve it—I lived under Fiona too long to keep from indulging myself.” 

Misty stopped on the front porch and kissed her again. “Thank you,” she repeated, and the familiar glow of admiration shimmered from her face, written like constellations in starlight as she regarded Cordelia. “You’re awful purty-looking, Delia.” 

“You tell me so every day.”

“I mean it every day.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve encountered.” Misty bit her lip as Cordelia studied the tip of her nose, a sudden frown perplexing her expression. “But you  _do_  have a spot of dirt on your nose. Hold still.” She licked her thumb and dabbed it off. 

As they entered the house, their laughter echoed through the hallways, and for the first time in her life, Cordelia knew that she felt truly happy. 

…

_Two Years Later_

“Cordelia, would you slow down? You’re going to get us killed!” Misty clutched onto the handle of the passenger side door and glared as the Supreme witch changed lanes with quick swipes of her blinker, much to the frustration of the other drivers, who honked at them. 

“We’re late to our own anniversary party.” Cordelia’s sweaty palms kept slipping off of the steering wheel, and she jittered in her seat, driven by the low tones and steady beat a Fleetwood Mac song. “You see how I find that a little stressful.”

Misty chuckled, but it was weak as she bounced along with another lane change. Cordelia boarded an exit and whirled through into the city. “It will be more stressful if we’re in a serious car accident on the way to our first anniversary party. We’ll be talking about it for the rest of our lives. Imagine me at sixty-five, saying, ‘Hey, Cordelia, remember that time you were so anxious to get us to our anniversary party that you totaled the car? That was a great time.’” She winced as another truck blared from an intersection somewhere behind them at another driver. “Jesus, what an asshole.”

Cordelia coasted through a stop sign and thumped down a back road. “It sounds great, actually. What else will we talk about when we’ve been together for so long?” A smirk creased onto the side of her face, and she slowed to suit Misty’s preferences. “There. Happy? We’re safely going five miles above the speed limit like normal drivers.”

“I wish you would let me drive.”

“You can’t drive.”

“Says who?” 

“For starters, the BMV and the state of Louisiana.” Misty rolled her eyes. “And as someone who has ridden in a car with you, I can safely say that as long as I hope to avoid death, I will never again be your passenger.”

“That’s a little harsh.” Misty pouted, crossing her arms and leaning back as she watched the dingy houses roll by. Many of them had thick coats of green growing up along their sides. “Why did you pick a place all the way out here? It’s kinda dingy.”

“It’s private. I didn’t want us to get any more attention than we’re already bound to garner.” Cordelia glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, doubting herself and her choices for a moment. “You didn’t give me much feedback. I thought it was better if we didn’t have to talk to CNN and Fox News over our cake. I know you don’t like the spotlight.” 

Laughing, Misty patted Cordelia’s thigh. “I lived in the swamp without running water or electricity for months. I think I can live with a park that might have a couple junkies roaming around the perimeter. It just doesn’t seem like the sort of place that would appeal to you.” 

“The only place that appeals to me is between your legs.” Misty’s mouth dropped open and heat rushed to her cheeks and the tips of her ears as she retreated, astonished by the vulgar turn the conversation had taken. “I’m sorry,” Cordelia said, but with her mischievous smirk, she hardly looked apologetic. “It was an opportunity that I had to take. You don’t look shocked often enough anymore.”

Misty shook her head and shivered once. “You’ll have to follow through tonight. You can’t say that kind of thing and then go back on it.” 

“I have no intention of going back on it. We would be a pretty lousy wives if we didn’t fuck on our first anniversary.” Cordelia turned into a bumpy parking lot where several other cars were already collected. Familiar faces roamed around the picnic grove, Zoe and Queenie straightening out food, Nan and Mary chasing each other away, Kyle rounding up some of the younger witches, Jeremy a distance away talking on his cellphone. Cordelia kissed Misty once. “C’mon, let’s go get some food.” 

As they approached the party, Jeremy noticed them first and ran to them, pointing to the phone. “Gran’s lost, and I don’t know how to tell her to get here—yeah, Gran, I’m giving you to Cordelia. She’s got the shared coven brain cell today. Yes, I love you, too. Here, please help her, she’s driving me insane.” Jeremy’s hair had turned into a frenzied fuzz, and his eyes were bloodshot; Cordelia wondered how long Rosemary had had him on the phone. 

Cordelia inclined her eyebrows and took his phone. “Hello?”

“Excellent! My only intelligent grandchild. Unfortunate I didn’t actually make you myself. Now, I’m on this cobblestone road—there’s a barbershop on one side—passing by that—a pet store? Grooming salon type deal. Honestly, Jeremy is such a smart boy, but his sense of direction is miserable. How do I get to the party?” 

Misty ran off with Jeremy to help Kyle in keeping track of all the girls, and within twenty minutes, Cordelia had managed to guide Rosemary to the park with several coordinated searches on Google Maps. The elderly woman parked somewhat crookedly and bumped over a curb, and she climbed out of her car clumsily. “Oh, sorry, dear. I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.” Her embrace was warm and soft, and her perfume reminded Cordelia of Myrtle’s fragrance so strongly that her eyes misted over from it—it was the smell that wreathed around the Supreme and made her feel small again, safely enveloped in love. “But I told the doctor that the day I stop driving will be the day I stop living. Anyway, happy anniversary, sweetheart.” Rosemary kissed her on the cheek, leaving behind a smear of red lipstick. 

“Thank you—” Cordelia hesitated for a moment before her tongue formed the unnatural word that followed. “Gran.” She smiled. 

“That’s the spirit, sweetie. Who’s got the cake?” Rosemary called as she approached the party. “I’ve got seventy-eight years under my belt, so I am  _not_  wasting any time with appetizers.”

“Gran!” Misty perked up at the sight of her, grin erupting across her face. “You get all the cake you want,” she promised, “and we won’t interrupt your _Golden Girls_  reruns for a moment.”

The old woman patted her head. “No worries, Misty. I’m recording _Matlock_  as we speak.” She smoothed Misty’s hair back out of her eyes. “You just get purtier every time I see you, I swear it. And I never thought you could be purtier than when I saw you in that wedding dress. You keep proving me wrong. I’m so proud of you.” They hugged again, and low, to Misty’s ear, Rosemary asked, “What is Mary doing with that mongoloid girl over there?”

“Who?” Misty followed her grandmother’s look across the grove to where Mary and Nan were giggling, falling silent, and then laughing some more. “Oh—That’s Nan. She’s Mary’s best friend. They’re communicating telepathically. And, er, Gran? We don’t use the word mongoloid anymore.” Both of the clairvoyant witches had stopped talking to look across at them, Mary’s gaze smoldering in defense of her friend.

“Right, right, I knew that. That was impolite of me. Should I apologize, or will she already know it in my head?” 

“She knows,” Misty assured. “Just don’t do it again.” 

Queenie perked up from the grill. “Alright, bitches, the burgers are done! And the green ones are for Misty, so don’t mess with those!” 

The party gathered around in a collection of singing and celebrating, people throwing food, Rosemary watching each witch’s talent with interest. When Meg got nervous and set her plate on fire, Rosemary applauded. “So what can you do?” she asked Zoe, and everyone began to chuckle anxiously while Zoe turned beet red. 

A final vehicle rolled into the gravel parking lot, drawing everyone up away from their plates. “But everyone’s here,” Misty mumbled around a mouthful of veggie burger. She choked it down on some soda. “Delia? Did you invite someone else?”

The Supreme shrugged, but she couldn’t chase away the knowing grin from her lips. “Maybe.” She scraped her foot over the ground as the driver hopped out of the car and approached the collection of witches and company. 

“I hope I didn’t miss the cake.” The distinctive alto purr caused some jaws to drop; others looked from face to face in confusion. Muttered whispers arose from some of the younger witches, recognizing the voice from the records that tended to follow Misty around the house. “Sorry I’m late. My flight was delayed.”

“Is that…” Rosemary whispered, and Misty bobbed her head silently, mouth agape. “Jesus H. Christ, you should’ve told me, I would’ve made myself look less like an old woman.”

Cordelia stood. “We’re glad you could come. Everyone, this is Miss Stevie Nicks. She’s an old friend of the coven.”

“I heard there would be free cake.” She inclined an eyebrow and winked at Misty. “Nice to see you again. No more swooning, I hope. Happy anniversary, ladies.” 

“Are you someone famous?” one of the younger girls blurted. 

“You could say that, yes.” 

Misty started cutting the cake, face turning gradually redder. Rosemary hadn’t taken her eyes off of the celebrity. “Gran, please, swallow that potato chip before it dissolves in your mouth,” Mary whispered from across the table, and obediently, the elderly woman swallowed it whole. “Goodness, the lot of you are embarrassing.”

Stevie strode around the table and sat comfortably beside Rosemary. Misty gulped. “This is my brother, Jeremy; my sister, Mary; and my grandmother, Rosemary. She’s the one who bought me my first record.” 

“That’s a way to make a lady feel old, introducing your grandchildren to my music. Pleasure to meet you, Rosemary.” She extended a hand. 

Rosemary lolled backward in her seat. “Gran!” Misty shrieked, and she and Cordelia dove to catch her before she could hit her head. “Oh, goodness.” 

“Well, won’t you look that. It runs in the family. Is she alright?” 

“I think I died,” Rosemary whispered, eyes gazing upward at the roof of the gazebo, not even glancing at the faces hovering above her. “I died, and God is Stevie Nicks.” 

Cordelia gave a burst of laughter, and she lifted her head to meet Misty’s eyes, teeth worrying upon her lower lip. “She’s fine,” she assured. She could fall into the depths of those blue eyes—and she did fall into them, every night when she curled up beside Misty in bed and spooned the warmth of her naked body. Taking Misty’s hand, she remembered; she needed no visions to view.  _You were worth every step into hell,_  she wanted to say,  _and I would follow you there again and again if you required it._  

Those words were not meant for now, as they hovered above a fainted woman with the eyes of Stevie Nicks on their backs, but as Cordelia fanned Rosemary off with a paper plate, she filed the thoughts away for later. Any punishment they had earned in hell would be worth the present that they had now, joyous and together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of Following the River Styx! Thanks to everyone who read this piece, and if you've enjoyed, I appreciate comments with your thoughts!


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